


Cold Are All Thy Lights

by steelneena



Series: Through the Seasons [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: A bit inspired by, A certain someone gets Denathored, AU, Angst, Caleb's sordid backstory, Canon Typical Violence, Death and the Devil, Defenstration, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Gratuitous amounts of Caleb Backstory, Happy Ending, Jack Frost - Freeform, Just like at Prague, M/M, Near Drowning, One moment where Caleb considers walking into his burning house. Brief brief moment, Reference to Tithonus, Suicide Attempt, Tags will update with fic, Temporary Main Character Death, This story will make you cold, Winter Weather Survival, Winter fic, a dead body is trampled at the end of chapter 10, and, beauty and the beast ending, but in a flashback, description, flashback dreams, non graphic description of someone burning to death, of the fire in which Caleb's parents died, sleep space sharing, slowest of slow burns, some body mod/horror?, some mild fantasy racism, somewhat graphic description of a fatal wound, though not overly detailed, trent put weird things in peoples arms, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 109,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: In a world where magic is outlawed for all but the ruling class nobility, wizard Caleb Widogast is a homeless beggar, living on the streets of Zemni’s capital city of Rexxentrum. Caleb has only his best and most devoted friend, a sly goblin thief named Nott, and his secret past.Far above, on the immaterial plane, lives Lucien, elsewise known as the Nonagon, a Frost Sprite and an underling of the Goddesses of Autumn and Winter, his time shared between The Moonweaver and The Raven Queen as the seasons change. When Lucien happens upon Caleb one day, freezing in the cold, he is aghast that the beauty he creates can cause so much suffering. Desperate to end that suffering and becoming more deeply enamored each passing day, Lucian makes a decision that will change both their lives forever.After begging his goddesses to be allowed to visit the mortal plane in an attempt to secure the love of Caleb, Lucian makes a bargain only to find himself embroiled in the worst of humanity’s proclivities - hatred, war, jealousy, violence, and murder, all of which come to center around Caleb himself.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story has evolved A LOT since the time of it's inception in late October and, after a lot of difficulties, it has finally gotten off the ground. 
> 
> Thank you to senor_sparklefingers once again for being my beta. I love you. 
> 
> Inspired in part by the Jack Frost legend, Death and the Devil by Frank Schätzing, and the poem Tithonus by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from which the title for this story was taken. 
> 
> Official Pinterest Board by Supersonica: https://www.pinterest.com.au/rexcorvus1/cold-are-all-thy-lights-steelneena-ao3/?sender=490048140611738114&invite_code=1aa2d731e8974410bb6c782b9bb4d512
> 
> This is my love letter to Caleb Widogast

Prologue:

“Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it.”

~ George R.R. Martin, _A Game of Thrones_

“Oh deep winter snow, pale executioner, thou who delights in a slow, torturous death.”

~ T. R. Neff, The Falconer and The Wolf

 

_The smoke billowed from the house like the darkest cloud in a storm. There was a hand on his shoulder, the gripping claws of fate digging into the flesh, pinning him, marking him, claiming him, separating him forever from the tragedy before him. He longed to run to its embrace and find himself little more than a wisp of ash lost to the sky and the stars, blocked out by the growing blanket of smoke. In the muted air, the spice of fire and burning wood seared his tongue and dammed his ears and flooded his eyes until they were red and scratchy. The ash burned its way down his throat and coated his flaming hair in soft white brilliance._

_Against the caliginous colour of the sky, the fire leapt and grew and glowed, devouring and devouring the dark into its unforgiving maw, but leaving him untouched, mustering its fever pitch as it transformed into the piercing howl that was pulled ragged from within his chest, leaving his throat raw and his lungs bleeding as the timbers of the house blackened and crumbled into char and cinder, sparking and crackling and howling right along with him.  Within the skeleton structure, his soul screamed and wept as the future emblazoned itself on his heart in the form of the past there and then._

_The whistling screams were lost to the soft, scintillating whisper that chilled his spine and froze his heart, the hot breath cooling against his neck as the darkness leaned down next to him and dripped poison into his ear. But he had only eyes for the melting memories and scorched bones that lay in embers at his feet._

_“You did this, Caleb. You killed them. You. You. You disobeyed me, Caleb, and now they’re dead. Because of you.”_

_He stood there for hours, pinned like a butterfly by the five pointed dagger on his shoulder until the smoldering remnants of the world, his whole life, everything he was, lay like ash on the ground, and the grip released. The horror of it all drove him to his knees, a mock tribute to the desecration of his sacred childhood and he found that the tears were burned from his eyes and he could no longer even weep for all that had been lost. Nothing was spared._

_In his breast, his heart withered and died, so it did not make a difference when the icy hands of Death clasped him about the neck from behind and, holding him in place, stabbed a dagger of bright, cold steel into his chest. He did not feel it when he met the ground, pillowed by ash and bathed in blood, for he was already dead. Death did not stay to claim him. It turned and walked away, silent in the first vestiges of dawn as the dirt soaked in his life to feed the ravaged ground anew, a stain of red against the ashy-white air, thick with the night’s last recollections as the fire burned away into nothing, leaving behind only the despoiled victims of its ravenous hunger._

_And when the snow began to fall, cloaking the scene in the purity of the sacrifice made there that day, he was reborn in the ice and the cold, while hatred burned in the hollow chasm of his chest. He staggered to his feet and, mindless, drifted on the wind into the endless expanse of pale, grey sky over the pristine white cover of earth, leaving behind only physically the ugly scar on land, though not the one on his soul._

 

Gasping, Caleb awoke to frigid air, his exhaled breath hanging like the most delicate of individual snowflakes in suspended motion. The dream clung to him. Even in the cold, which dulled the nose and all other senses to the crispness of the atmosphere, he could smell the smoke on his clothes and in his hair, as though the fire had only been the night before. He carried it with him everywhere he went. Leaving the dream to fester in a flickering corner of his mind, Caleb concerned himself with the more pressing and immediate matter of survival. He sat up, bleary eyes adjusting to the murky grey of the smoky city streets.

Clinging ice crystals sparkled anywhere the moonlight shone through, clustered in the fantastical whorls that nature manufactured. He recalled the folktale of his childhood Blumenthaal, of the extraplanar sprite called the Nonagon whose very presence was characterized by the chill winds and twisting designs that appeared overnight. Curled in his corner with his companions, Caleb was at least safe from the biting wind, though his fingers, covered only by threadbare mittens, were blue tinging the purple-black of wicked frostbite. Soundlessly, Caleb cursed the mythic imp for the numbness in his body and the dangerous lack of sensation in his fingers. Frost coiled and latticed up the cold stone slabs against which he was leaning that masons had long ago carved and mortared together into the buildings that made up the foundation of regal but barren Rexxentrum, the heart of the Northlands of the Dwendalian Empire and the seat of the governing body, Emperor Dwendal himself.

The alley – thankfully – was as deserted in the bleak hours of morning as it had been when they had first huddled there in the night. Turning himself in towards the wall to hide his actions, lest a Crownsguard walk by and see what he was about to do, Caleb curled his fingers together and whispered the words. Like honey on his tongue, the spell whispered into being the spark of flame. Twice cursed and ten-score reviled, yet essential to his livelihood, it leapt to the tips of his fingers, warming away the bone-deep chill as it thawed the meat of his hands. He looked around once more, warily. It was always dangerous, calling the flame. If someone were to see, it would be back to prison, or, more likely, certain death.

Against him, Nott shivered violently.

Taking one hand away, he nudged her into wakefulness as, even in the silent streets, his rasping whisper would have echoed. Stirring, Nott blinked open her glowing, lantern yellow eyes. The tiny goblin girl clutched at her cloak and drew in close to Caleb who offered her the miniature fire cupped carefully within his palms. His familiar, the cat-shaped Frumpkin, unbothered as he was by the cold, dutifully climbed his way onto Caleb’s shoulders, wrapping around his neck like a scarf to provide as much warmth as he could against the endless deep freeze of the winter.

As Nott hunched over his hands, Caleb looked out to the sliver of the city visible from their alleyway. Across the street was _Familie Strohners Bäckerei_. Caleb knew that if he waited long enough, he would see the first of the warm, yellow candle lights from within as Frau Strohner and her family rose to knead the dough and heat the ovens and set the rolls to rise and the loaves to bake. And behind, looming in the distance, with grand dominion over all, the stark façade of the Tower. Within, the lauded mages of the Cerberus Academy slept in the blissful comfort of dreamless slumber while, at the very top, in the Archmage’s quarters, Herr Ikithon himself ruled with his absolute grip.

The view from those glistening, frost etched windows was vast and as ever growing as the Archmage’s power. From that stately height, one could see the whole expanse of the city. It towered over the Palace District, and over the Academy Halls. It dwarfed the mid-tier and made minuscule the markets and alleys of the lower town, lording over all Rexxentrum as if it were Dwendal himself and not merely the towering seat of his high-mages’ power.

Like an all seeing eye, the Tower bore judgement down upon those below, and it was not only Caleb who looked up from his place on the ground in those loathsome streets to curse the impassive fascia of the structure. But it did not care. What were ants to a giant after all? That was one story Caleb was sure The Archmage had never heard, the story of the giant and the lame ant and the nine bushels of grain. (No, that was beneath him, certainly.).

Turning himself bodily away from the looming shadow, Caleb forced the flame to burn hotter, the fire reflecting in his eyes as he thought of the lands beyond the lower town. Out beyond the farthest of the city gates, the Tower’s shadow stretched still where the rolling fields were now surely painted over by the lacy white of frost, the last remainders of Autumn’s brittle skeleton leaves withered in the chill, the ground hard and cracked and the cool blue ponds left as unmoving silver pools beneath the moon, while the carven stone of Rexxentrum was decorated in delicate icy filigree that heralded the true beginning of what was sure to be a brutal winter.

One last brutal winter.

And then, it would be over.

Caleb would see to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference in this chapter that's pretty niche. If you get it you should tell me in a comment. That would be super cool. 
> 
> I can't wait for you all to take this journey with me.


	2. 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been so long in coming, but I had over 300 papers/finals to grade at the end of this semester, and I like to have the next chapter completely written before I post. So, Chapter 2 is done! And I have 2 days of no work because of the EXTREMELY cold weather, during which to work on writing chapter 3. So we're back on track!

1.

"Snow was falling,

so much like stars

filling the dark trees

that one could easily imagine

its reason for being was nothing more

than prettiness.”

_~  Mary Oliver_

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”

_~ Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass_

 

Beneath Lucien’s feet, the world danced by, night and day winking in and out of their natural passage in his wake. There was no feeling on any plane of existence that could rival the sharp, speeding flare of wind against his face as he traversed the mortal realm, his delicate frostling dragonfly wings moving at a fast blur. Over the innumerable eons, Lucien had watched the face of the world alter, witnessed lakes shrivel dry and be filled again, beheld as forests rose to enormous heights, only to be cut down, and seen civilizations spring up in their place before being torn low, reclaimed by the magnificence of nature time and again. Through it all, Lucien remained the same, youthful, unchanging, and free.

 _Almost_ free.

Free was flitting and flying where he willed on the mortal realm. Free was zipping low over treetops, skimming the snow from their boughs. Free was nosediving to the ground at impossible speeds from terrifying heights at steep trajectories. It was _not_ the confines he experienced during the other seasons, kept away on the immaterial plane and beholden to his Mistresses whims.

Just that morning the gates had been opened to him once more, the passage between the immaterial plane and the mortal one made clear for his journey to the other realm. From his hand fell the frost; he watched as it solidified gracefully upon its fall to the earth, splaying over the landscape to dress the last of Sehanine’s colourful autumn leaves, the newly barren trees, - gnarled figures in the pre-dawn -  and the drying, dead stalks of crops, cut long ago, in fine garments of sparkling crystal as he blew by. With barely a touch, he transformed pools of water into silver mirrors and clear panes of window glass into the most mystical of paintings, fractal phantasms dancing within the designs for the young mortals on the other side to pursue with endless interest until the tips of their noses turned red, pressed up against the breath fogged glass.

Lucien wished Yasha were with him. Some days, if they were lucky, she was called upon to bring the storms or calm them at the same time as he was skipping about the mortal plane, icing the tips of every individual nettle or turning flowers to impenetrable glass. She loved his flowers, always ready to fold back her enormous dark wings and pause with him in a glade so that she could watch him turn them each to ice, one by one, preserving them for the duration of the season. Only if he plucked them for her collection would they remained frozen in solid perfection for all eternity.

But there was no storm that day, and no Yasha. Only the wind, the rising sun, and the cloudless sky.

Usually, he liked to take his time, enjoy the chance to walk the mortal realm, but, on the first day of the season, there was just something special about moving fast; feeling the wind on his face and breathing deep the air, he came alive.  Once in a great while, he indulged the curiosity that lay uneasy in his heart. It drew him down, down to chimneys and campfires, cabins and caravans. What were _they_ , that they hid indoors during the winter? He could not understand, scoffing at their pithy attempts to cover themselves. Lucien himself had little issue with the weather. It was always pleasant to him and he wore naught but a feathery covering of fine frost on his person. They were ingenuous, to be sure, but unsettling and peculiar.

Pausing, Lucien flitted by one such window where a few small faces crowded at the pane. Though muffled, he could hear them within, little voices attached to big eyes that peered over the sill as rabbit babes out of their den.

One by one they blinked widely. Lucien wrinkled his nose. Humans were strange creatures. Pressing one fingertip to the windowpane, Lucien _willed_ his magic to whirl out over the glass in a new layer of fantastic beauty, sending the little ones squealing.

He didn’t stay much longer. They were already turning away from the window, back to the heart of the home. Instead, he willed his wings back into existence, the frost chasing out from his back into unique form against the cold air as he sprang into the sky, frost streaming behind him and down onto the world. Some time later on another morning, the sun risen, a little too far away to melt the frost through entirely, Lucien surveyed how his hard work sparkled under the soft golden light. Against the white backdrop of the world, a single dark spot blighted his vision.

Curious, Lucien dove closer. The dark spot moved and suddenly, glowing beside it, was a bright one to match on the stark, barren landscape, flickering yellow and orange and even blue. Smoke curled into the air, pale grey against the lightened sheen of the onset winter sky. The bright spot was situated at the bottom of a brown grass hill, sheltered from the buffeting of the wind, which sailed instead above it, pushing the wafting smoke higher into the atmosphere where it dissipated. Crouched low beside the little camp was a man. He was dressed poorly; Lucien knew enough to understand that much, that the holes in his tattered and ragged clothes were not indicative of a comfortable life. The man’s vibrant red hair was its own sunrise, which, in conjunction with the hill behind him, was the mimic of a cresting morn. He held his hands out over the dancing bright thing as if in homage.

Inexplicably, Lucien was drawn to the Bright. Allowing his frostling wings to melt, he alit nearby and strode weightless to the object of his fascination. The curling, flickering element consumed his focus almost completely, more so than the being - make that being _s_ \- beside it. His attention shifted for a moment. Just to the side of the man, a small figure huddled, wrapped head to toe in black and grey cloaks. There didn’t seem to be anyone else there, but the brightness…the brightness remained. The larger figure put out a hand and a smaller Bright leapt from his fingers to where it was larger on the ground. The human was making the Bright? Emboldened by seeing the man create the Bright from his hand, Lucien reached out his own for it, disregarding the people sitting before him. A nagging at the back of his head entreated him to stop, despite what he’d seen, but Lucien couldn’t help it.

The moment that his fingers passed through the sparking thing, agony erupted in him. With a yelp, Lucien drew back, cradling his hand. Neither figure moved, mumbling silently between themselves, completely unable to perceive him, like always. Whatever they were saying didn’t matter. The laced ice-crystal covering that spidered over his flesh had melted away in places, leaving the lilac of his bare skin visible, where more than the usual fuchsia tinged his colouration. The spot was shiny bright in its own way, and the skin there stung when he touched it. Hissing at the unpleasant feeling and shocked that it had even been able to affect him, Lucien looked down at the Bright thing with disdain and a little fear, backing away as he did.

But it was so, _so_ beautiful.

After a time, the larger of the two people, the man with red hair, moved. “ _Komm schon. Wir müssen jetzt gehen. Sobald als möglich. Wir können nicht dieser kalter wetter noch mehr länger vertragen_.”

The language wasn’t Common, at least, not so far as Lucien could tell. Something native to the area, perhaps. The smaller companion seemed to understand his words, simply nodding in response. For a moment more they huddled close, before the redheaded man stood and, using his foot, scraped loose dirt from the ground over the Bright, dousing it in dust.

Startling backwards as the Bright first leapt and then dimmed, Lucien watched on in curiosity. Eventually, it extinguished and the persons stood, gathering the few things that were strewn about, and trudged off from their spot.

He stayed a long while, simply looking at the smoldering remains. In the distance, the man, with his hair to match the Bright, was disappearing over the horizon. The sun was fully risen at that point, and Lucien had to send an extra surge of frost through himself to manifest his wings before launching himself off into the sky. As he did, he cast one last glance downward  - something unknown flashing fierce in his chest - but he could no longer see either figure.

 

He spent several more days flitting about that area, enjoying himself. When he wasn’t lounging on a cloud high in the atmosphere during the peak of daytime, Lucien danced across open water and waltzed with trees, dressing man-made structures with frozen filigree and, though he didn’t precisely mean to, he kept an eye on the horizon whenever he passed in the direction by which the two had gone. But the man, his companion, and the Bright were nowhere to be seen.

Then, as it was wont to do, the weather changed again and he was called back, at least for the time being.

Though it was freeing to be unchained from his Mistresses’ realms, it was still always good to return home, even if he decidedly took a detour on the way there. When the gates between the planes were barred to him, Lucien preferred Sehanine’s domain to the Matron’s; though both Goddesses held the chain of his obedience, it was the darling of the Moons whom he adored. It was for Sehanine’s favour as well as in her honour that he graced the mortal realm. And for his own pleasure, of course.

The gate opened above him, spinning in quick, opposing concentric circles to part the fabric of the mortal realm as he flew through it. For once he wasn't unhappy to be bound to his Mistresses whims. Questions overflowing within him, Lucien wasted no time.

The darkness that surrounded him when the gate closed was astounding as it always was when he found himself tugged back. From where he hovered above the carnelian stone of the mortal realm, Lucien looked up. Directly above him, as always, was the Beacon. Twelve sided, it pulsed a low, golden glow, concordant with the connecting slipstreams of non-planar space.

Lucien gently laid a hand on the dim one that he knew would bring him to Sehanine’s bright moonstone, and it immediately pulsed to life in time with the Beacon, the gate opening high above him. As he made to propel himself forward, allowing the slipstream to guide his flight, another quivering thread of light pulsed to life and Kord’s sapphire burst, revealing the figure Lucien most longed to see.

“Yasha!” He dropped his hand from Sehanine’s slipstream.

The Storm Bringer’s enormous shimmering and sparking grey wings arched behind her and, with a few quick, powerful beats, she came to hover beside him. She was easily twice his size. Yasha’s eyes, one a glowing blue and the other a deep purple, sparked with lightning and her own wings were splayed, dark like the thunderclouds of which she was denizen.

“Lucien.” She smiled a little sadly. “You are returned and now I am leaving.”

“I was going to slip away. Sneak over to see you. But now I don’t have to!” He grinned. Kord’s realm was a place Lucien only rarely visited, nervous as the Storm Lord tended to make him, but Yasha was there and so he tarried in her home realm only when he was able to sneak away. Sehanine did not usually reprimand him for his indiscreet visits, but The Matron kept him on a tighter leash.

Even as Yasha grasped him gently on the shoulder, he placed a slender hand on her upper arm. “I’ve missed you! I was going to slip away if I could, but I’m glad I caught you here. I…I have questions and I thought maybe you could help me.”

She crossed her arms firmly, but there was no menace in her bearing, nor even real sternness. He knew her well enough to determine that.

“Lucien…”

No menace. Only exasperation.

“I know, I know. You have to go and so do I. But, can’t we talk a little? I have...questions.” He fixed her with an unyielding gaze. Yasha only rolled her eyes, but she uncrossed her arms, waiting anyways. It was something like a friendship, he supposed, in as much as two such beings as themselves could have a friendship.

“What is it, Lucien?”

“I…I saw a mortal make Brightness from his fingers!” The excited note that crept into his voice could not be kept at bay. “Look-“ he stuck out the hand that bore the stinging, shining spot. It was not quite so fuchsia by comparison to his natural skin tone anymore, but the feathered frost that normally covered the spot had not reformed. “I touched it. He touched the Bright, so obviously I had to as well. But it hurt! It didn't mark him, but me, me it hurt!”

Yasha’s jaw set firm and Lucien hovered back a few inches. “I think the Bright is like my lightning, Lucien. You should probably be careful, I think. Please?”

Typical Yasha, worrying over him needlessly. “It was beautiful. A mortal made it, Yasha, can you believe that?! A mortal! A mortal made something that can hurt me!” He laughed mirthfully; it altered the whole of his face, ruby eyes reduced to glowing red slits from the roundness of his cheeks and the fullness of his grin.

“Should you really be thrilled by that?” Yasha asked, looking at him askance. At that, Lucien’s smile fell and his gaze grew sharp.

“It’s not as though they can see me. What harm can it really do unless I allow it?” He watched Yasha’s expression carefully, but she gave no indication towards her perspective, a facet of her personality that Lucien both envied and hated. “I wondered if it had a name. I wondered if you knew of it. That’s all. Now you’ve gone and spoiled my fun.”

“Don’t be that way, Lucien.” Yasha’s expression softened a fraction as she considered his question. “It’s called fire, I think.”

“Fire…” Lucien turned the word over in his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the sound of it. “Fire…”

“Be careful, Lucien. I do not mean to reprimand you. I’m sorry. I’m just worried. It hurt you-“

Earnestly, Lucien flitted upward, high enough that he could look her directly in the eye. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I will be careful. I promise, Yasha, dear.” He held her gaze for a moment, conveying all his affection and appreciation with a soft caress of her cheek. “Now, we’ve both to be off. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your Lord.”

“Or I you. Goodbye, Lucien.”

The portal gate of the mortal realm opened beneath them and Yasha swooped down and through. It closed the moment she was gone, leaving Lucien alone in the vast endlessness of deepening dark. The Beacon gave a low pulse. One moment more and then he once again dropped a feather light touch to the slipstream he needed and followed it through to Sehanine’s realm.

The change in weather lasted a time. He went unneeded, wiling away the empty spaces with sisters Mona and Yuli, who presided over Sehanine’s fantastic lights. Many nights later in the year they would go out together through the gates, the sisters remaining high above while Lucien would dip far below. Every time he watched them, it was with a desperate, yearning thrill. But that would not come for some time yet. It was too early in the season.

Only once before he was ordered to leave again did Lucien take an audience with his Autumnal Mistress. It was Desmond, the Moondrop who came to find him. Lucien had been lounging on one of the lower branches of a perpetually autumn tree, its golden and auburn leaves glowed thinly as moonlight streamed down through them, providing an intriguing visual pastime as he whiled away the unfilled days.

“Lucien, the Moonweaver beckons you.”

Blinking lazily, Lucien stretched his arms wide and, with one graceful movement, fluidly slid to the ground. “Hello Desmond. Sent you to fetch me, has she?”

Desmond rolled his eyes. “You are impossible. Yes. The Lady has sent me.”

“Alright then, no need to get snippy.” Lucien stifled his laugh. “I know my way.”

Leaving Desmond behind, Lucien wound his way through the glimmering golden forest. The trees were smooth, curving into the intricate gilded shapes that formed Sehanine’s wooded realm, whispered into shape by her nymphlings and encouraged to grow by the gentle music of her tree sprites’ lutes. Frosted over as they were by Lucien’s magic, the whole of the realm sparkled in the twin moons’ silver light.

Beneath two grand arching silver maples, gilt in red and orange and crystal, Sehanine sat cross legged on the moss, the moonbeams shining down on her from above. When she looked up to him from the small loom she was working, Lucien bowed low. She graced him with a soft smile, her eyes silvery discs in the pristine ever-night and beckoned him to sit. Reverently, Lucien padded forward, deftly making his way across the slow trickling creek, through clear water and over smooth stone and sat on the little crest below her, resting his head on the moss near her knee.

“You asked for me, Lady?”

The Moonweaver hummed. “Lucien, my Frostling, how were your first flights over the mortal plane? Are you well?”

Lucien moved to pillow one hand beneath his cheek, effectively hiding the still unhealed spot on his hand from when he had touched the fire. “Yes, Mistress. I’m well. It was wonderful to dance and laugh and play there again.”

“I am glad of it, my little frostling.” She let her weaving be and lay one hand on his head, smoothing the curls between his horns. Her vibrantly blue skin shone like polished stone and the gentle rake of her nails at his scalp eased him into half slumber. “Did you see anything interesting, dear-heart? You have often recounted to me the many beautiful things you discover on your jaunts.”

He almost told her, almost let the word slip from his lips, the secret word from Yasha. The Bright word. But he didn’t. “I saw some mortal children more closely than in the past. They are so curious, my Lady. Their eyes are as large as a pixie’s! They take up at least half of their faces. But they’re rather soft and round looking, not like a pixie at all in that respect.”

The Moonweaver’s laugh was like the twinkling of a thousand stars. “You are so dear, Lucien.” She paused her petting. “And nothing else?” Dazed by her splendor, he managed to contain his response to a contented hum. She leaned over him, brushing a loose lock of hair back from over his forehead. “Rest well, Lucien.”

When he woke, the Moonweaver was gone. Such an occurrence was not all that uncommon. Many of her charges fell asleep to her gentle presence and Lucien paid it no mind. Their talk however… as he blinked to wakefulness beneath the shining stars, things became clearer. The inquiries she’d made didn’t make sense to him and the way she looked upon him was altered, searching, curious. As though, despite all his efforts, she knew exactly what he’d attempted to keep hidden. All the same, Lucien did not dwell on it overlong.

As soon as he was directed back to the mortal plane, he was gone. Zipping down from the gate through the highest atmospheric plane, Lucien spread out his arms, happy to be back in his element. Crystalline shards, impossibly small, flew back from his frame, cascading to the ground aimlessly. He doused the world below him in white, happily hiding away the muted, wet and ugly ground with the pristine beauty of his creation.

He dropped low, skimming the tops of an evergreen forest that trailed down the strong spine of a mountain range and came to rest at the rocky foot, where a small, murky lake awaited him. Beaming with pleasure, Lucien stepped forward, toes bare save for the feathered icy lace, and made contact with the water. It froze behind him as he walked and then he broke into a twirling dance, leaving factitious designs on the surface in each and every place his feet struck the water.

Laughing, Lucien tossed his head back and spun, first on the ice and then up into the air. His plum curls caught in his eyes, tangling over his horns, but he looked down with glee, pausing only to brush them away so that he could see the shining scrollwork glare up from beneath him in the blinding sun. Dazed for a moment, Lucien stopped hovering and pitched towards the surface, pulling out of the dive only when he threatened to hit the ice. He slid through the air and dropped to the snow powdered ground, laugh echoing in the empty silence.

He sat up, snow crowning his head. Gently, he his head back and forth, ruffling it from his hair. For a moment, he caught sight of something winking in the distance. It flared and then disappeared, before winking at him again, a different sort of sparkle from the sun on the snow. Something shining.

Something bright.

Fire.

Lucien whistled through the air, fast as his fragile wings would allow and came to hover just next to a copse of trees. There, sheltered by their evergreen limbs, was the same mortal as before and his companion. And before them, was the Fire.

The ground was empty of snow where it was situated. The two who basked in its amber glow had lain out a blanket or a cloak of some sort on the hard ground and were settling themselves upon it, undoing their packs and unravelling their strange, soft garments. The man’s red mane of hair, so much like the Fire, was revealed beneath the winding mass of a thick blue fabric. Strangely, Lucien saw that his hair did not just cover his head, but his whole face as well, to such an extent that much of it was hidden. Of course, he’d seen such things before on other mortal beings, and even some immortal. The Fletcher, Gustav, had a little bit of hair on his chin which he said mortals termed a ‘goatee’, but it was smooth and curled slick. Gustav certainly never grew _fur_ on his face like animals did, however. Such was what the mortal had. It curled rough and course down from above his ears and over ruddy cheeks to obscure almost the entirety of the lower half of his face. Rubbing a hand absently over his own, smooth chin, Lucien couldn’t help but contemplate how such a thing occurred; in point of fact, Lucien had found that he himself was incapable of any such feat.

And then, in the midst of contemplation, Lucien saw his eyes.

A piercing, icey blue.

Fascinated and perplexed, Lucien melted his wings away and stepped weightlessly across the frozen ground towards the man. The lattice of ice on the closest of his legs to the flame began to drip off of him, but he paid it no heed. He didn’t stop until he stood mere inches from the mortal man. So close that he could perceive every minute detail that made up the face before him. The man’s hair hung knotted and matted in places, overlong, and was tied back haphazardly with a dark leather cord, though most of his copper tresses appeared to have escaped the confines. A little dirt smudged his cream-pale forehead, contrasting with eyebrows the same colour as his hair, if not a shade or so darker, and beneath, his blue eyes were framed by soft golden orange lashes. A permanent pink windburn gave life to his nose and cheeks. Nearly hidden beneath the facial hair, chapped flush lips tinged a bit purple like Lucien’s own. He was lined, weathered, and tired.

But he was beautiful.

Lucien had never been so close to a mortal before. He had simply never had the desire to be. But this was the mortal who had brought forth Fire from his hands and Lucien was ever so curious. Tentatively, the sprite lifted a tremulous finger to the exposed skin of the man’s cheek, dragging down lightly.

All of the sudden, the mortal shook violently, putting his hand up to his cheek in shock. Lucien, surprised, reformed his wings and zipped backwards on instinct.

 _“Nottchen.”_ The man said again in his strange language. _“Komm näher bitte. Die Feur wird uns warm machen und du brauchst dass mehr als ich. Nimm deine Deckmantel ab. Er mußt austrocknen, ob du freirt wirst”_

_“Ja, aber es ist sehr kalt.”_

_“Ich weiß, Nottchen. Ich weiß.”_

‘Nottchen’, must have been the name of his small companion. Watching on, Lucien mouthed the word absently, trying it in his mouth and rolling it unsuccessfully over his tongue. The cloak that obscured the tiny figure came loose revealing a small, green skinned goblin girl with glowing yellow eyes, large pointed ears and sharp teeth who was haphazardly wrapped in trailing and frayed bandages. There were more similarities between she and Lucien than between the he and the man. Small golden jewelry bedecked her ears and nose in much the same manner as his own.

The cloak was handed off to the man who held it in front of the flame for a while before giving it back to the tiny girl, only to remove his own in turn and do the same thing.

Slowly, Lucien stepped closer once more. After the girl settled the cloak back around herself, she set about with her pack, digging within, and removed a packet wrapped in stained cloth. She opened it and held it up to her larger companion, and they began to eat what was within.

For a space of time between not too long and a while, they stayed, chatting unintelligibly in their shared tongue, eating happily. Eventually, the Fire was doused again (this time, the little one took a cup and scooped up snow to drop over it) and they packed up to move on. All the while, soft white flakes had been falling heavily, drowning out the sun with a curtain of grey clouds, only hints of light blue peeking out from behind.

Lucien watched them go, leaving contrasting tracks behind them in the snow. The smoking remains of the fire were the only evidence that they had ever been there at all.

After that, Lucien stayed on the mortal plane for the most part, and when he was called home for a change of weather, it wasn’t too very long before he was back again. Each time, the world grew more wintery before fighting back to the dreary damp and endless brown. His very presence was often enough to drop the temperature a few degrees, not that Lucien knew that. The frost he laid upon the ground was growing quickly into small layers of snow and ice. Eventually, they built up to the point that, when he descended from the gate, he didn’t have to continually start from scratch.

The seasons had finally changed. It was The Raven Queen who held his obligations now, and to her realm he was tasked with returning to primarily. Part of him was pleased that he didn’t have to spend so much time there. When winter finally came, it _stayed_ and he was let loose upon the mortal lands, free to do as he willed for as long as She deemed the season would last.

Surreptitiously, he’d been keeping an eye on the man and the girl, spending a few chunks of time out of a day following them on their journey. They were headed northeast, still within his realm of purview. It wasn’t as though there was anything _wrong_ with watching them. He rubbed the smooth, discoloured spot on his hand thoughtfully. Simply because he’d never done such a thing before didn’t make it forbidden. And yet, he was strangely nervous about it. Nervous about the Moonweaver’s questions, nervous that the Matron would tug him back, nervous that it was forbidden and he simply hadn’t known it. As inexplicable as it was, Lucien’s desire was still greater than his fear.

He floated about four feet off the ground, resting his chin on his hands, watching the man – _Caleb_ , his name was _Caleb_ – and Nottchen huddling close. They did so quite often. More often than they did anything else. Sometimes they removed their outerwear, but most of the time they sat very near one another and very near the fire, which was always born from Caleb’s hands. Sometimes there was even a cat. That, Lucien liked especially. Cats were fun to watch in the snow, much like foxes. Caleb reminded Lucien of a fox. Just as the clever animals did, Caleb hid away his bright beautiful hair with a drab outer covering. Eyes shining, his motions quick and shifting, he always seemed ready for whatever might come.

As the season deepened, the longer Lucien convinced himself to stay, drifting along behind them on the wind. The snow was grown deep and Nottchen traveled on Caleb’s person now, clinging to his back or sitting on his shoulders. If she stood in it, it came nearly up to her chest.  The wind blew harder as time went on too and, as soon as it picked up, he would hold her close in his arms as if afraid she would blow away.

Lucien had grown a tad listless in his duties, lackadaisically trailing frost and snow behind him as he floated beside them while they walked, just content to watch. He was still and comfortable in a way he never before remembered being. Lucien was fascinated by everything they did, but more than that, he found himself smiling less at the beauty of his own creation s and more at the tenderness the two mortals shared. In some ways, he was reminded of Yasha, and in other ways, it was wholly different. Alien almost. He never understood when Caleb would take Nottchen’s hands in his own and rub hard. Why? What for? He didn’t know. He’d not managed to understand any more of the language, either. Just a few words. _Schnee_ was snow _, friert_ was freeze, _Eis_ was ice. _Katze_ for cat. Only _frost_ was identical. And there was also _Feur_. Feur meant fire. Yasha had been right. Every time one of the words was said, it sent a thrill of ridiculous pride through Lucien that he was able to understand even the smallest amount of their conversation.

The night was growing dark as they stopped to camp. Lucien sat himself down beside them, cross-legged, hands on his knees as he watched Caleb settle in. The fire was crackling, the flickering light casting bizarre shadows on his handsome face. Sometimes, when they were in a more sheltered location, he would dig inside his outer layer and withdraw a rectangular leather thing with thin sheaves bound to it and look at them, turning them every so often while Nottchen lay out a collection of shining things that drew Lucien in less than he’d anticipated. Despite their many colours and sparkling settings, Lucien’s eyes always wandered back to Caleb. Beautiful, tender Caleb, head bowed over his strange leather rectangle, hair hanging in his face temptingly.

It couldn’t hurt…could it?

Leaning forward, Lucien, pushed the stands behind Caleb’s ear and then darted back, waiting. Though Caleb shook, it was not as much as the last time. It was almost as if he could feel-

Lucien shook the thoughts from his head.

It was impossible. Nothing more than a silly dream.

And yet, he wanted the impossible so terribly that he stood up, shook his wings back into being and leapt for the outer atmosphere. It was wintery enough for a while anyhow, he reasoned.

Cree met him at the Matron’s gates, her soft black fur shining like silk in the Beacon’s light.

“Nonagon?”

Guiltily – _guiltily? Where’s this coming from? –_ Lucien smiled, baring all his teeth, including his elongated canines. “Cree, my dear.”

“What are you doing back?” Her wings were like Yasha’s, large and soft, a deep, pitch black like her fur. “It’s not even a quarter of the way to midwinter.”

Lucien’s tale twitched impulsively. “I got lonely.”

The moment it was out of his mouth, Lucien knew it had been a poor choice of words.

“Lonely?”

Hoping to recover some manner of credibility, he pushed his shoulders back haughtily, but it was already  hopelessly lost. He’d never been given to capriciousness and Cree, of all beings, knew it. “Yes. Is that so hard to believe?” Apparently it was, for Cree glared back at him. She’d had always been one who fawned over his works, always the one to praise him for the smallest of feats. “It’s not like you’re down there with me anymore, not since the Matron decided that you should remain behind, considering your temper. If _you_ hadn’t have done what you did, maybe _I_ wouldn’t be lonely,” he bit back.

Cree’s eyes grew wide, her teeth bared for a moment as if in retaliation, but then she rolled out her shoulders, raising her chin.  “The Matron saw you coming. She sent me here to meet you. I suggest you go.” She paused for a moment. “You’ve changed, Lucien,” she said.

“Have I?” he sneered. “Or have you?”

With that, the Onyx stone burst and she returned to the Matron’s realm, leaving Lucien alone in the enclosing dark, an obvious, unignorable dismissal.

 

Time passed. Winter deepened. The nights grew longer, the days shorter. Lucien did not see Caleb and Nottchen. An unrecognizable emotion filled him, leaving him disconcerted. Though he wondered where they were, Lucien did not outright seek them any longer. Even so, he began his day to the south, drifting casually in the direction they’d gone, creeping a little farther every day. Beyond the valley, between the mountains, a little southward from where the evergreens spilled down the rocky slopes, opened the plain. Long ago, Man had built a city in that connecting place between the two land formations. Nestled quietly beneath the falling snow, its tall, steepled towers reached futilely toward the heavens, clustering the smaller buildings around its tiered wall skirts, rising on the first hill at the foot of the mountain range.

Many days later, Lucien lit on the top of one such spire, holding onto the spear-like metal rod that adored its peak. Frost went curling and coiling it’s spiraled way from his hand over the iron and down the slatted shingles where it spilled over and off the roof to be carried on the wind to new destinations. It was night. Sehanine’s moons smiled down over the city, over Lucien, and he felt the soft touch of the Goddess kiss his brow.

He dropped down lower, to one of the flat portions of the roof and sat, looking out at Man’s domain. This was the sort of place where Caleb may have come from. Though he’d seen people traveling in the depths of winter in the past, it wasn’t usually for so long and over such a distance. It was here, Lucien was certain, that Caleb and Nottchen had come, winding their path across the plain and through the valley to the city gates. Perhaps they rested somewhere below. Perhaps within a building. Perhaps without.

The draw was too great. He pushed off the roof and glided down from the tower’s grand height to the lowest of streets. Lucien darted from rooftop to rooftop, peering down the alleyways, with wide, wondrous eyes, scanning over all the things he’d never once taken the time to examine. They had been too small, too insignificant in comparison to the grand landscape of nature, but now, Lucien wanted to know and see everything. He drank in the city of Man, discovering boxes and barrels, some half broken and rotted, others with their tops frozen shut. Many were the things for which he had no name, things like shattered ice (if ice were green, that is) and people’s clothes that had no form and were full holes where they shouldn’t be.

For a time, he saw nothing living. There was only the softly falling snow and the smoke from chimneys before he spotted the first of an occasional dog or cat that dashed through the streets, slipping between shadows. And once, as the night wore on, he even saw a pair of mortals, a man and a woman, dressed alike - neither half so beautiful as Caleb - who walked in step down the main cobbled straightaway, hands resting on the hilts of their swords (much smaller than Yasha’s, Lucien noted) as they went. They turned a corner, disappearing into the miasma of snow.

Just as he was starting to lose hope – and when had he begun to hope in the first place? – he saw it. The familiar flickering, smaller than usual, burst to life in a dark, protected corner between two of the taller buildings in the lowest tier of the city. Lucien sped downwards. There, curled in the corner on a pile of the things that were like clothes but were not, was Caleb, the cat curled atop him, and Nottchen between him and the wall, shaking in her sleep. Caleb cupped the fire in his hands. He was shaking too. The dim light did little to hinder Lucien’s gaze and he saw, strangely, that the tips of Caleb’s fingers were dark. The disconcerting feeling weighed low in Lucien’s stomach as his eyes lingered on the wrongness of the colour, of how much brighter the redness of his cheeks were since the last time he’d seen him, of how his lips were nearing blue.

Reaching out, Lucien dared place his hand on Caleb’s. The reaction was instantaneous and Lucien drew back, horror dawning on his features. Caleb shook violently, holding the fire close for a while. After a few more moments, he nudged the little girl beside him and shared the bright blossom of light as the cat crawled its way to his shoulders blinking absently in Lucien’s direction. Caleb stared right through him.

Fearful but determined to know, Lucien put his hand against the wall, willing the frost already there to grow. Almost as if they did it subconsciously, the pair moved away from the spot, bodies leaning ever so much more slightly inwards towards each other, putting distance between themselves and the stone.

Caleb made the fire glow brighter.

Pain blossomed in Lucien’s heart as reality crashed down on him, the snow swirling more forcefully around his figure in reaction.

“No!” He cried out, voice ringing in the echoing gloom as he tried frantically to stifle the winds and push back the snow. “No-“ His words choked off into a sob. Lucien watched as Caleb pulled Nottchen into his embrace and hid his head at the sudden surge of wind and then, he could watch no more. As fast as he was able, Lucien shot up into the highest atmospheric shelf, looking down the great distance below to where he knew the two to be.                  

In distress, he turned away, willed the gate to appear, and flew through. Without a moment’s pause for the carnelian stone to reform behind him, Lucien clutched the slipstream over to Kord’s realm. Uncaring who saw him where he didn’t belong, Lucien made for where he knew Yasha to be.

She saw him coming from a mile away, but it still didn’t prepare her for how fast he was going when he slammed into her, unable to stop.

“Lucien!”

“Yasha, I’m a _monster_ , Yasha I _hurt_ _people._ ” His normally joyous voice was overwritten by anguish as he clung to his only real friend. The thought made him feel even worse.

“Lucien, slow down.” Yasha calming tone, strong arms, and soothing hands enveloped him. “You are not a monster. What's all this about?”

Slumping against her, Lucien selfishly allowed Yasha to take his weight; he felt so much better in her arms, taking comfort in the way she held him, without judgement or reproach.

“Mortals...they can't... my frost and snow, my ice and winds, my beautiful creations...Yasha they _hurt mortals._ Did you know that? Did you know that I hurt people? I just...I thought my creations were beautiful! I just wanted to make the mortal realm beautiful! It's ugly. All of it. Everything I make...it's ugly.”

“No, no it's not, Lucien. It's not ugly. It's not. And you're not a monster.”

No matter how upset he was, Lucien did not miss the fact that she had not answered his question. But, so it seemed, she was more than ready to ask one of her own. “What brought this on, Lucien?”

“It's Caleb. I saw Caleb and when I touched him he shook! His fingers were turning black and when he touched the wall after I made some frost, he moved away. I _hurt_ him. I know I did.”

Taking him by the shoulders, Yasha held him out before her. “Lucien. Lucien, slow down. Who is ‘Caleb’?”

Held firm in her unyielding grasp, Lucien felt small in a way he despised, cornered like an animal. “Caleb,” he repeated.

“Yes, Caleb.”

“Caleb is a mortal man.”

“Yes, I figured as much. How do you know Caleb?” The piercing gleam of her gaze was uncanny, searching, and harsh.

“He makes the Fire.”

In the uncomfortable silence, Lucien squirmed, but Yasha held him tight, waiting. He wriggled once, twice more before fixing her with his own removed, unimpressed stare. “I don’t really _know_ him. I just…watch him.”

“You’re watching a mortal.” The lack of question in her statement was not reassuring.

“I-yes. I just watch him. He makes the Fire and I like looking at the Fire. It’s beautiful.” The lie was only a half a lie. A little white lie. The Fire was beautiful, and while Lucien did like looking at it, that was not _all_ he liked.

“You are worried that your creations harm this mortal? But, yet, all you care about is the fire he makes?” Too astute for his liking, Yasha’s eyes narrowed. “Lucien. Be honest. It’s just me.”

Unable to bear it, Lucien turned away and Yasha, sensing his concession, let him go. “Caleb…he’s…Yasha, I don’t know. I never really looked at a mortal before. I used to think…well you know what I used to think. That they’re all the same. That they’re well, you know. _Mortal_. I never wanted to, Yasha, but Caleb is different. Somehow. Yasha, I think…I think I’m in love with him. I’m in love with him, but I’ve hurt him.”

Lucien put his head in his hands, missing how Yasha tensed and stiffened, how the set of her shoulders betrayed her feelings. For a while, neither said a word.

Yasha cleared her throat. “Lucien, I think it would be best if you spoke with your Mistresses. Perhaps, perhaps they can-“ she waved her hand, searching for the right word. “-help you.”

Lucien looked up, a curious expression dawning on his face at her words, but before Yasha had a chance to clarify what she’d said, his eyes had lit up and his wings started vibrating so quickly that he lifted into a hover. He didn’t look happy, though, and that was what most worried her.

“Lucie-“

“Thank you, Yasha. Thank you!” He cried, cutting her off and then darted away, beyond her grasp and over to the slipstream that led directly from Kord’s realm to the Matron’s, and was gone.

 

The Matron’s realm was dark in a way that Lucien never cared for, filled with a hundred billion thin mortal pulselines and hummed in the empty darkness before reaching the seat of her power. For the first time, as he sped through the great, high ceilinged hall, past her most auspicious Servant’s throne, he considered them as more than just a nuisance to his flight pattern. They were a delicate, a bright red mired in shimmering gold. A sudden impulse pulled its own thread inside his chest and he wondered which one might be Caleb’s. Which pulseline held the measure of his life? Was it damaged? Was it frozen but cracking like ice in the sun?

He willed himself to push on and banished the thought from his mind. The grand hall seemed as though it extended out eternally into black abyss, unless, of course, one was familiar with the extraplanar hallways that opened through at one’s whim. Lucien burst through one such portal into the harsh, silvery light. Enthroned, his Winter Mistress sat on a high pedestal, bathed in a red glow, her Servant standing on the landing prior, a whole head below the Raven Queen. Yet others still attended her, crowded along the stair.

Lucien had never been particularly reverent. Though he Matron cowed him almost as much as the Stormlord frightened him, only the Moonweaver held his real devotion. All the same, sitting impossibly tall and straight-backed on her cathedra in her own hall, Lucien did not dare risk the Raven Queen’s imposing glare.

“My Queen.” He ducked low, leading with his arm out before him, palm open and upward facing. “I ask of you an audience.”

Her porcelain masked face did not waver.

Using all the skill of language he possessed, Lucien spoke. “I beg clemency, Mistress.”

That drew a slight shift of her head. At her right hand, her raven winged Servant crossed his arms.

“Speak, Nonagon.”

He went down on one knee at the inescapable echo of her merciless voice.

“I beg clemency, Mistress. I’ve hurt a mortal and I do not understand why. He’s suffering, and I beg you, clemency.”

A haughty laugh rang out. “Lucien on his knees, begging! For a _mortal_!” It was Cree’s voice. “What selfishness is in your heart, now, Nonagon? You think you’ve only hurt but one? What is it that you suppose you do?”

“ _Silence_.” She turned her gaze from Cree, who backed into the shadows, properly chastised, and onto Lucien. When he looked at his hands, Lucien saw they were shaking; furious at his own weakness, he clenched them into tight fists as the reprimand continued. “You have been negligent this season, Nonagon. You have indeed brought suffering this year, in greater measure than I have deemed fit. One region in particular is struggling overmuch. And now you confess to your distraction. How is it that you have determined that you hurt this mortal? And why only the one?”

“I…he…” Lucien shuddered beneath her withering gaze. “When I touch him, he shakes. His fingers, they’re not the right colour. He shuns me when I’m near.”

Somehow, the lengthy, ringing silence was worse even than her damning words. “You have sought to _touch a mortal?_ ”

Biting his tongue, Lucien forced himself to nod. “Yes.” The word was small. He bit it out like a bitter leaf, old and disgusting.

“Why?”

 _The Fire_. A warning flashed bright behind his eyes, but he paid it no heed. “He made the light that hurts from his hands. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s precious.”                      

“Do not lie to me, Nonagon.”

The very soul within him shuddered. “I love him. I want to be mortal. I don’t want to hurt him any longer. I want to be mortal so that I can be with him. Please, Mistress, I-I ache to be with him.”

She laughed, pitiless. Lucien could feel it, settling in his stomach like broken ice shards. “You don’t know what it is to love. To ache. You don’t know what it is to suffer. You have no concept of it. You care only for yourself.”

A new light suffused the darkness of the chamber in which they stood. Seeing the Servant of the Matron turn, Lucien also dared to look. The deceptively diminutive and vibrantly blue person of the Moonweaver was standing not so very far behind him. In the Raven Queen’s domain, she appeared even more ethereal than in her own. The softness of her nature tempered the harsh emptiness in which they stood. Gliding forwards, she came to stand beside Lucien. He could feel her hand in his hair, tangling loosely. Leaning into her blessed touch, Lucien felt the relief her presence brought tangibly. He breathed more easily for it.

“It is true that Lucien knows neither love nor suffering, Matron.” She spoke with an even, unwavering tone. “But,” Sehanine circled him and bent over lifting Lucien’s head by his chin.Reluctantly, the supplicant met her soft gaze. “how can we expect him to learn, if he is never given a chance to do so?”

“It is the middle of winter, Sehanine, and the Nonagon’s obligations belong to me right now. Were it autumn, your say would be more valuable over my own. But, alas, it is not.” There was no bite to her words, only truth. Briefly, the Raven Queen nodded a head in deference to her fellow Goddess before addressing Lucien once more. “Return to you duties and think on this no more. Go, Nonagon.”

Whatever it was he was feeling, it was most certainly an ache. His Winter Mistress was not _all_ correct. But her Servant was descending the steps from the throne towards him and the Moonweaver stepped away to allow him passage. Inscrutable, the Servant gripped Lucien’s arm with one skeletal hand, lifted him to his feet and escorted him out of the chamber into the grand hall.

“Do you serve her unquestioningly? Don’t you have a care for _my_ plight?” He asked, knowing he would receive no answer in spite of his tone and purposeful provocation. The Servant rarely spoke, rarely made any sound at all. It was as though he were made entirely of shadows and silence. But, at Lucien’s words, he stopped, pulling them up short and turned dark empty sockets which glowed with a faint white light, on him.

“Not your plight,” he said softly. “Only the mortals’.”

Stunned, Lucien let the Servant drag him away, in half amazement and too preoccupied by the obvious emotion that coloured the dulcet tones.

After the Servant sent him back to the mortal realm, Lucien did the first thing that came to mind. Perhaps the stupidest of things, considering the trouble he’d already landed himself in, but he _cared_. The Maton’s imperious disdain only made him want to risk her anger all the more. He thought of Cree’s spiteful laugh and the Servant’s dismissal of him and wondered if it had always been thus. Hadn’t Cree once been his greatest admirer? And even once the Matron had to have been fond of him, at least a little.

None of it mattered. If they weren’t going to care for the mortals, then…But someone cared. The Servant cared. So what hadn’t he-? But it was too late to go pestering the Servant. He had surely returned to his Queen already. Lucien shook his head with wild force, hoping to clear it even a little, before he found an air current and let it carry him where it would.

 _You care only for yourself_.

“I do not. I thought I was making the world better. I thought I was giving a gift to the mortals! I didn’t know! But Caleb and Nottchen hurt because of me. And probably others too. I don’t even know _why_ it makes them hurt! I’m not okay with that,” he gave the empty air his ultimatum. “I’m not okay with that.”

The feeling that once pressed at his gut was squeezing his lungs and his heart now too. Whatever emotion was welling up within him – _frustration? Yes, that’s the one –_ it was drowning him from the inside out like the bird with the broken wing four season ago, floundering in a lake while Lucien had watched. Even if he had been able to lift it from the water, he wasn’t sure if he would have. For the first time in his memory, Lucien was ashamed.

Without warning, a large, black raven swooped past him, buffeting the air current upon which he rode; his train of thought lost, Lucien tumbled out of the current in a roll before cresting backwards to a stop. On the horizon, a tower rose.

The city of Man.

He had to return to the city of Man.

In the daytime, the city was a bland variety of tans and greys, stonework generally well kept, though, in some places, especially in the lowest tier, the umber roof tiles were cracked or missing. Beneath the remaining snow cover, the city looked even more sapped of vitality. Without the sun to set the hoarfrost sparkling like diamonds, the snow was but another colourless layer on the world. Lucien felt only disgust for what he made. Not even a soft breeze followed him as he descended into the streets.   

Putting aside his contemplation, Lucien pushed on. The first place he tried was the alley where Caleb and Nottchen and the cat had hidden. They were nowhere to be found. It didn't matter. Aimlessly he wandered the streets, taking in mortals other than his Caleb or Caleb's Nottchen.

He saw little gnomish children huddling outside a butcher's, close together, their cheeks ruddy and smiles absent. When he passed by, they shook and he turned away, disconsolate. A few soldiers breathed into their hands, their breath hanging like a cloud before them. A tiefling woman, blue, not his own purple, pumped water from a well into a bucket, stopping periodically to rub her hands together furiously. A half orc man with one limp arm was taking her buckets back and forth to a dark building. A half elf and a halfling ambled past singing raucously, pushing and shoving one another in play, cheeks and brows shining from the weather or the drink, though which, Lucien didn't know. They pulled their cloaks close about them as they made their way towards an arch, passing the place where Lucien stood.

And there, nestled half in shadow behind a barrel, a distinctive green ear was visible. More slowly than before, Lucien approached. The little goblin girl was painstakingly wrapping Caleb's hands in the bandages that usually adorned her own extremities, covering the dark blue tips while Caleb looked off into the distance listlessly. When she was done, she pulled and tugged on his cloak, resetting it about his shoulders, smoothing the fabric until it met her satisfaction. Then, she pulled the hood over his head and bundled him up tightly in the long blue strip of fabric hiding his face and ears and holding the hood in place. Satisfied, she burrowed her face into his chest and clung. All the while she spoke to him on their language, Caleb occasionally replying with something obviously non-committal. He did, however, cradle her close in kind.

The nearer Lucien drew, the more they shivered and so, the sprite turned away sadly. “I'm sorry,” he said, watching them from afar as they slunk through the city streets. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen to any of you.” Spreading his arms wide, he pushed himself off and sprung up to the highest alcove of the tower, sitting down on the sill, his back to the window as he looked out. “I'm sorry.” Lucien hugged his knees to his chest, resting his head on them for a time. “I won't be the one to do this to you. Not anymore.”

Mind made up, Lucien flew beyond the city and off into the barren fields. He would perform his duty one last time, and then, then he would make his appeal to the Matron again, and this time, she would believe his words.

 

The world was sufficiently white again before Lucien returned to the Raven Queen's realm. He held his head high as he made his way through the hall and into her throne room. She awaited him, the Moonweaver already beside her, both Goddesses watching him expectantly. Melting his wings, Lucien dropped to one knee, ducking his head lightly, sending plum curls tousling into his eyes.

“Nonagon.” The Raven Queen waited for him to speak.

“Mistresses.”

“Well. What have you to say for yourself?”

“Please. I beg you make me mortal. I haven’t changed my mind. So many suffer!”

“Unduly because of your neglect.” The words came from the Moonweaver. She raised a brow and he took the criticism, though it stung worse than anything to hear it from her.

“I know. I made the one I care about suffer more for my attentions. Knowing that is punishment enough. That's why I ask for clemency. Please. Not just for me, not just on behalf of...Caleb...but for all of them.”

The Raven Queen considered him from behind her impassive porcelain visage. “If you become mortal, it will make no difference. Someone else must fill your role.”

“But it won’t be me. I thought what I did made lives better! I don't want to cause suffering. I just want to make beautiful things. And if I can’t, then I want to be mortal.” His voice only wavered a little.

“You make many beautiful things, but they do not have to be harmless to be beautiful. Many beautiful things are dangerous Lucien.” Sehanine’s words were in their own both beautiful and painful, making her point in the harshest of ways. Lucien said nothing further.

“Then you stand by your statement?”

He nodded.

The Raven Queen shifted slightly, leaning back on her throne. “My mind has not altered on this matter.”

“ _Please.”_ He dropped down to both knees and hung his head low. “I've begged once. I will continue to beg. I don't want to hurt mortals! I’ve seen what I've done and I know it's my fault, I know that my love for the mortal man is what caused things to be so bad, but they're bad enough already when I'm doing my job as normal. They're still suffering! I saw children in the streets huddled together. Normal people, trying to do normal jobs, all of it painful because of me. I accept my punishment, whatever it may be, but I beg you, please, please let me be mortal beside him! I can't bear it. I can't. Maybe I'm selfish in that. But I do care. I do!” For all his pretty words, his plaintive tones did not seem to impress her and the Raven Queen remained unmoved.

“There is someone else who would speak, Matron.” Sehanine lifted a fine brow and waved an arm. The Servant stepped up to his Mistress's level and bent to whisper in her ear. For a moment, Lucien was sure he'd be smote under the Servant's hand, but when his shadowed form withdrew, the Raven Queen lifted one thin hand to her face and removed her mask.

Pale and fine boned with red eyes not so very different from Lucien's own, the Raven Queen's lips twitched. Her scrutiny was inescapable. She considered Lucien. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she turned to the Moonweaver who nodded.

“Very well, Nonagon. We will make a deal. This is what we will offer you. Either you agree or you decline. There will be no bargaining. Is that understood?” she waited until he nodded sharply before she continued.

“We will grant you the _clemency_ for which you so prettily asked _._ You will be made mortal as you so desire. You will be stripped of your magic, your memory, your wings. Everything. If you die during your mortal state, at any time, there will be no return for you. You will simply cease.” She paused, letting her decree sink in.

Lucien trembled. He'd never before considered death. It had never mattered. But death was the Matron's domain and her word on it was final.

“You will remain mortal,” the Raven Queen continued. “until the first inkling of spring. Since this...this Caleb...since his welfare is of such great concern to you, Lucien, if, during that time, you succeed in securing his love and finding a way to support and care for him, you will remain mortal, permanently. If it reaches spring and even one of those things is not accomplished, you will be called home and the memory of your Caleb and his fire will be taken from you.  Should you accomplish your goal only to find you’ve had a sudden change of heart or a hasty realization that this is no longer what you want, it will be too late. You will be mortal until you die. Do you understand?”

For a long moment, there was silence, her words settling over him like a pall, judgement passed.

“I asked,” her tone was grown a dangerous calm, “if you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress. I understand.” Looking discreetly over to the Moonweaver, Lucien found not even a sympathetic glance in his direction. “I-I accept. I accept your bargain.”

“Very well.” She rose from her throne and the Servant held out his arm to her. She took it with more delicacy than her imposing form should have allowed and descended the steps to stand before him. Sehanine stood to the side, watching closely. The Raven Queen reached down a hand, setting it to rest on his cheek and he felt her touch spider over his whole body from that single point of too gentle contact.

“Lucien the Nonagon, Sprite of my Domain, I take from you your magic, your immortality, your selfhood. Be mortal now, until the bonds of the agreement come to fruition, or your goals are met.”

Even as the power of her words took root within his very being, the floor opened up beneath him, a gate portal over the mortal world, and he felt himself fall out from beneath her palm. The wind buffeted him violently as he plunged to earth, his hair whipping into his face and eyes, leaving tiny stinging marks everywhere they hit. Far above, he could see the portal closing, siphoning up the flakes of golden magic as they left his body to float in the atmosphere above him. Lucien tried to level himself off but his wings were melting away all the way down to below where they were rooted into his back. A painful sensation filled him. It was not so unlike the touch of the Fire; starting at his toes and fingertips it ran up his arms and legs, surging towards his core like poison in his veins. Everything was going so fast. Desperately, he clutched at his chest, crying out in agony when the tendril of sensation reached his heart pulsing like the Fire, eating away at him as he hurtled ever faster towards the ground. The portal was so very, very far away. The flecks of his golden magic grew less and less until there was nothing left and without warning the portal winked out of existence. The wind was rushing so loudly in his ears, he couldn’t hear himself screaming.

Lucien hit the ground with a sharp _crack_ , as something so…so…he didn’t know what, pressed up against his back. Wide eyed, heart thrumming wildly like a rabbit, he tried to escape it, but he couldn’t. It burned against his skin in a different way than fire. Shaking uncontrollably, he started to go numb all over.  His vision shifted rapidly from white to blurry to black and then his eyelids fluttered shut and he knew no more.                                             

 


	3. 2.

2.

“Winter then in its early and clear stages, was a purifying engine that ran unhindered over city and country, alerting the stars to sparkle violently and shower their silver light into the arms of bare upreaching trees. It was a mad and beautiful thing that scoured raw the souls of animals and man, driving them before it until they loved to run.”

~  Mark Helprin, _Winter's Tale_

**27 th of FESSURAN**

 

The ground crunched beneath Caleb’s feet. Overnight the squelching mud, cold from rain had been frozen through, leaving the browning grass brittle and the lumpy dirt beneath hard as rock. Behind him, Nott trudged, taking care not to stumble over the riveted earth and icy mounds. The pack slung over her shoulder was almost as large as she.

“Let me take that, Schatz.” Caleb stopped to wait a moment, legs tingling as his muscles spasmed and twitched from the continued exertion. It was late, very late, and they’d have to find a place to stop soon, or run the risk of exhaustion.

“No, I’ve got it. I’m fine.” She smiled up at him adoringly and he could tell that she was being truthful. “Besides, you’re in no fit shape for that.” As Nott came to stand beside him, dropping the pack for the moment, he stooped beside her and smiled. It was a small expression, one reserved just for her. The ache in his heart went away just a little when she spoke the way she did, only for the pain to return twice as hard later. He smiled through it anyways.

The little goblin girl flashed a sharp grin and reached his upper arm, squeezing. “You’re getting there though. Any more of this and you’re sure to build some muscle, Caleb.” The pride in her voice glowed like that morning’s still warm sun.

“Is that so?” he cocked his head at her and one of her large ears twitched almost imperceptibly.

“Yes. And you’d better believe it. You’re getting stronger, Caleb. You are.”

As they continued on their way, Caleb considered her words carefully. While his physique would likely never be anything to brag about, he knew she was right. That, of course, was contingent upon their stores lasting and his injury healing fully. Their journey to that point had been far from easy. After running themselves ragged in the flight south from Icehaven into the woods flanked by the Cyrious Mountain range, far to the west of Rexxentrum, they’d languished. Nott had kept him alive for weeks when he was grown weak and near helpless from fatigue compounded on pain and blood loss. Yet, even when his reemerging strength was all but sapped, Caleb pushed them onwards.

Nott never ceased to voice her misgivings. They’d traveled north in the summer, and she’d never know winters like Caleb had, didn’t fear the season’s nearing, did not believe that it would surely overcome them entirely if they did not press forward. No, Nott did not have the knowledge that Caleb did, born of the many years he’d resided in the northern reaches, weathering the harsh, bitter cold winters and hard, driving winds flush with snow. Each day, Caleb’s nervousness about the impending season grew.

For a time, they’d kept close to the foot of the mountains, sheltered in their shadow and the sparse trees while Caleb convalesced. Eventually, they’d turned east once more, descending out of the foothills and into the deep, vastness of the Velnin Thicket. The terrain had been rough going at first, but, a few days later, they finally emerged onto the plain near the river, Caleb’s ever true sense of direction keeping them headed towards their destination. That had been but two days before, and only then, exposed to the elements, did the first frost set in.

“We should stop here, Caleb, or find a hillock to hide by. Your bandages will need replacing and my legs are tired.” Nott’s lantern eyes were already scoping out the lay of the land. Caleb had to admit that she was right. In the deepening of twilight, the faint traces of the sunset were not enough for Caleb to see more than the barest shadows of detail.

The soft thump of Nott’s pack against her side brought Caleb back to the present. “Follow me, Caleb. I see a good spot, I think.”

Trusting her as he always did, Caleb followed her, reaching back to stroke Frumpkin who was nuzzling under his chin from where the cat was draped over his shoulders. They made camp not fifteen minutes later, nestled into the side of a lightly beshrubed hill, routines set in place to make it an efficient ordeal.

“Come here, Caleb.” Nott patted the space on the bedroll beside her, holding the scavenged bundle of bandages in her hands. “Let’s take care of this while the wind is settled.”

He shrugged out of his ruined old coat and removed his book holster with care, laying it beside him before moving to undo the belts at his waist. When he was unhindered, Caleb lifted his hand to his head gingerly, wincing only a little while Nott pushed aside the part in his tabard to pull at his shirt, exposing his bandage wrapped torso to the chill air.

“No bleed through today. You’re healing nicely.” She muttered at him as she worked to unwind the soiled cloths. He sneeked a peak just as she tugged a little too hard and the fabric pulled at the closing wound. Caleb hissed through his teeth. Nott winced. “Sorry.”

“Nein, it is alright, Schatz.”

When the bandages finally came away, revealing the thin, shallow slice across his side, Caleb glanced down as best he could while she inspected it, prodding gently before she turned away. Nott rustled through her pack for the rudimentary salve they’d concocted together between his hazy, feverish moments when the infection had set in a week back, when her liquor had run out between the nervous drinking and constant dousing of the wound.

He flinched when her fingers pressed along the sensitive flesh, smearing the natural paste over the scabbed and oozing cut.

“There.” She said, pulling a length of new bandage and wrapping it tenderly around him. “I think we won’t have to do this anymore in a few days.”

Letting out a shaking breath, Caleb nodded. “Ja, that will be good.” Nott finished and tugged his shirt back down, leaving him to the rest while she cleaned up. “Where are the other bandages, Schatz? I will burn those and then get a real fire going here in a moment.”

“Of course, Caleb.”

It was a relief to pull the coat back on; even tattered as it was, the single extra layer of warmth was a boon against the frigid air. And it would only get worse. A few minutes later, a small fire was burning and they settled in for the evening.

“Is there any water left from the stores?” Nott asked. Caleb shook his head.

“No, but there is another branch of that freshwater stream that runs down out of the mountains not far ahead and we will have a chance to refill our stores then. Do you have that bark? Or any of the jerky left?” A packet wrapped in cloth was shoved at his chest.

“Eat your damned bark, I’m not gonna.”

“It is not so different from jerky, Nottchen.”

“You just keep telling yourself that.”

Caleb frowned, watching her dig around in her clothes some more. “Nott. Is there anything else left? Any of the hard biscuits?”

“It’s fine, Caleb.”

“ _Nott._ ”

She slumped, defeated. “No. There’s nothing.”

“Eat the bark, Nott. There is more than enough for us to share and tomorrow we will be at the stream and we will find something there. Okay?”

“Okay, Caleb.” She relented, curling against him. "Okay."

 

In the day and a half that it took to reach the river, Fessuran came to an end, and with it the last vestiges of autumn’s colours. Caleb had plenty of time to think. As he was mostly healed, Nott only pushed him to talk a little bit before giving up and leaving him tohis  contemplation. Icehaven had been a disaster, a waste of time and resources, and a drain on their health both mentally and physically. They were headed back to Rexxentrum empty handed, no further than they had been before. And Nott…he was dragging her with him, when she could have stayed behind, safe and sound, one less thing for Caleb to worry about as winter approached.

The little voice in his head was whispering all the same. _You would be dead if it weren’t for her. Dead, shot full of arrows running from those Crownsguard or decaying in the forest, eaten alive by infection._

 _You should be grateful_.

Instead, all he felt was quietly furious.

The end of autumn brought with it the brittle crinkling of skeleton leaves floating through the air, carried on the wind’s ghostly fingers. A few wisps of his hair escaped its leather tie, blowing into his eyes. As he pulled the collar of his coat up more tightly to batten against it, he notice Nott veer a bit, bumping into his side. Dropping hand to her shoulder, Caleb pulled her in close, hiding her from the worst gusts.

They’d gone two days without substantial food. Well, longer than that if he were factoring in the way they’d parceled out the remains of what little they’d had to begin with. Substantial, after all, was relative. But the soft rushing of water was growing louder and louder in the muted atmosphere and where there was water, there would be food.

“We are getting close now, Nott. Can you hear it?”

“Yes, Caleb.” She replied shortly. Nott had never been fond of water and he knew the prospect of joining up to the river’s bank made her nervous, but she brushed it off. “Not much longer and I’ll be able to get us some dinner, alright?”

“Ja. That’s good, Schatz.”

Reaching up, Nott patted his hand. “I’ll take care of you, Caleb.”

He shuddered, eyes falling closed. “I know you will.”

They made the river by dusk. The bank was dotted by barren shrubs and rocky divots where the earth had been washed away. In a few spots along the edge, thin sheets of ice clung to the hard ground, but the majority of the river was running fast and strong. Nott angled away from its course, eyeing it distrustfully. Caleb watched her go, disappearing into the underbrush, crossbow at the ready, and sighed before setting about to fix them up camp.

He could be useful.

Caleb set about the rote movements, laying out the bed rolls first and then setting the alarm thread before wandering down with the small pot to the river. When Nott returned, he would have some fresh water boiling with the far from potent remainder of their salt store and the tiny phial of herbs that they’d taken with them. Save to light the fire, Caleb knew he was mostly useless, but at least he could do that much. He set the water boiling easily, the flame beneath big enough to warm his hands and feet but not his face.

Then, Caleb waited.

The fire danced in his peripherals. For a while, he avoided looking at it, but, as always, he felt his gaze drawn to its unknown depths, white, blue, and yellow all at once, ever-changing, mutable and elusive.

_-licking at the doorframe, the windows shattering, cloying smoke choking him, choking him, the hand on his shoulder like a claw, screaming, screaming until there was no sound left only the sharp, piercing-_

“-leb! Caleb!” He started, almost falling backwards. Nott was shaking him by the shoulder, a pair of boney _hasen_ left discarded on the ground as she took his face gingerly between her hands. “Caleb?” She was crying softly, lip wobbling and he pitched forward into her with a dry, shuddering breath. He caught himself only just, jagged stones digging into his palms as he felt her wrap her arms around his neck. “Oh, Caleb, oh my boy, my boy.” She chanted his name, soothing a hand down his back.

“I’m fine.”

Nott didn’t deign to reply to that.

 

The night came and went. The dreams plagued him, as they often did. Scraps of light and memory, of blinding pain. In the morning, after they’d packed up once more, Nott didn’t say anything, though she looked just as tired as he still felt. Just another thing way he was dragging Nott down.

After checking Caleb’s wound one more time, they packed up camp and headed to the shore. The soft rushing of the murky water left a few crests of white foam around the jagged rock-teeth, spanning at least half a mile at the widest point. A current. Strong, by the look of it. One glance at Nott and Caleb knew they would have to go around.

“You are not comfortable with this, are you?”

Stock still, his diminutive friend looked nervously out across the water. “I-“

“We do not have to cross here. We can go up a ways and see if it is an easier prospect there.”

Still, Nott made no response.

“If we do not cross at all, we will be days overdue, and winter is not far behind us.” He could already smell it on the air, or rather, he couldn’t smell anything. Usually, autumn smelled like the heady spice of vegetative decay and dirt, but now, on the wind, Caleb could smell nothing. Only the empty cold.

“I-I…” Nott hung her head. “I’ll do it.”

“I will carry you. I promise, you will come to no harm, Schatz.”

Her gaze unwavering, Nott watched the river for a few long, silent moments. “But, further down. Please? You said-“

“Ja. I did. Further down then, where it is not so wide, and fast and deep. Does that sound better?” Nott only nodded and Caleb let out a breath of relief. “Let’s go. Perhaps we can reach a good place to camp near that spot tonight yet if we leave now.”

The sun was a bright white against the pale blue sky, melting only just the bright sheen of frost that covered the plain. For that, at least, Caleb was thankful, for it meant that his eyes would be saved from the blinding glare, even if his feet would hate him for it later, when the soft mud seeped through his boots to his socks and feet inside.

The elements were his main concern. When they’d been living in the city that summer – if you could call sleeping in the street ‘living’ somewhere – there was little concern about overheating; it never grew warm enough in Rexxentrum for it to become a problem. But, out in the harsh, empty lands of the North, Caleb knew winter would be brutal. Even the slightest dampness to their clothes could end disastrously, and wet feet would be the worst possible outcome. The soldiers he’d seen coming back from Xhorhas so long ago…it had been horrific.

Tediously, the pair slogged their way along the bank of the river, heading northward for the place where it forked and thinned so that the crossing would be easier. Caleb had never had it out of Nott exactly why the water frightened her so, but, unless it became necessary, he wasn’t about to push her. He understood.

While they started the journey speaking of many things, mostly mundane, eventually Nott’s conversation starters ran thin. In the absence of more nightmares to mar the mood, they lapsed into the sort of comfortable silence that could only be shared by two such people who knew the heart of the other. And Caleb didn’t have to know Nott’s history to know her heart.

For lack of conversation, his thoughts turned to the reason they were out there in the first place. _He_ was supposed to have been there. Instead, they’d missed him by a day. A fluke. Ikithon had left on urgent business – been summoned back, Nott overheard when she’d infiltrated the house of the official who had been hosting him. But Ikithon was never _summoned_ anywhere. Ikithon went where he wanted, when he wanted, why he wanted.

And where Ikithon went, so did Caleb.

It was strange. After… _after_ , Caleb had found himself more closely tethered to the Archmage than before. Where once he’d been little more than Ikithon’s prize pet, a dog asked to do tricks when it so pleased his masters, he was now the wolf, tracking his prey, starving and alone and desperate. And desperate men were prone to doing desperate, dangerous things.

Such were the thoughts boiling within Caleb’s mind. They circled him, like vultures circling dead things, going around and around in his head, spiraling down towards the corpse of his heart.

 

“Caleb?” Nott tugged on his hand, ripping him away. “Caleb are you alright?”

He stared ahead into the blinding grey of the sky, nodding only slightly to acknowledge her.

“You’re starting to frighten me, Caleb. I know…” He caught sight of her from his peripherals, ducking her head low. “I know that things in Icehaven didn’t go the way that you were hoping. I know that you’re upset, but we won’t miss him this time. We won’t. He’ll be in Rexxentrum. You said it yourself, Caleb. You know that he’ll be there for the Holiday. He has to be. He’s never missed, right?”

It was sweet, the devotion and assuredness that she put into her words; the trust that she had in him was implicit. For one, vicious instant, Caleb wanted to reach back and slap her for her idiocy, her commitment. The thought stung him like a bee. How dare he! How dare he belittle her for her trust in him, simply because he was unworthy of it? Just because she wasn’t wise enough to see that tying herself to his mission was going to end in disaster, didn’t mean he had to punish her for it.

_But it would be kinder. It would be kinder if you told her to go. You are going to get her killed. You have not been forthright, she does not know, and she cannot unless you tell her. Tell her and she will leave you._

_She will leave you and be safe from you and your selfish, stupid heart._

“Right, Caleb?” Nott prompted.

_And then, you will die alone._

Caleb said nothing.

“Oh, Caleb.” The waver in her voice was enough for him to the clench his jaw against the welling of emotion with him. “It’ll be alright. We’ll see this through. I know we will. You’re strong. And powerful, and I’ll do whatever you can’t. I promise. Can’t we…can’t we plan? Can you tell me again, how the ceremony will go? So we can be prepared?”

“Ja.” He admitted reluctantly. He _could_. He simply didn’t want to. After a few moments silence, he continued. “Nott, would you like to hear a story?”

She had to have noticed the redirect for what it was; just because she wasn’t wise enough to leave him behind did not make her imbecilic. Simply foolish. Regardless, she let him have what he needed, and didn’t press.

“I’d love to, Caleb. Can you tell me something about the winter? All your Zemnian stories are, well, they’re awfully dark, aren’t they? But I like them. There are truths to them, I think, that people don’t like to see.”

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps she was willfully blind to the way he was barreling towards total destruction. Perhaps she simply didn’t care. For the life of him, Caleb couldn’t understand why.

“They are dark, ja,” There wasn’t a one he could think of that wasn’t in some ways. “but they are important. They teach us about people. What sort of story would you like to hear, Schatz?”

Finally, Caleb looked down at her; none of the emotion he’d heard in her voice was visible in her well-schooled features.

“Something for the winter. Something for the times to come.”

“I can do that.” He knew just the one. Knew it as well as he knew his own hands. “I will tell you now the story of the two little children, a boy and a girl who were close friends, and how they met a Winter Queen whose magic put ice in their eyes and hearts, and turned them against one another…”

 

The river, even at the narrowest point, was far too wide for Nott’s liking. Eyes round as yellow tea saucers, she watched the fast moving water nervously, stock still. Briefly, Caleb imagined that she was vibrating at such a high frequency that he simply couldn’t tell.

Not taking her gaze off of the rapids, Nott spoke. “We have to cross _that_?” she asked, incredulous.

“This is it, Schatz. We cannot go any further up without losing precious time. Time we already do not have.” He looked around. Already, the autumn was brown and colourless, the foliage thin, almost barren, and the wildlife had long ago moved on. The geese were long ago flown to more southerly regions, and only a few fox and rabbit were to be seen, darting camouflaged through the scraggled remains of the underbrush.

“I will take you on my shoulders, of course. And you must hold my books.”

 

“I can do that for you, Caleb. I can use my magic and put them on the other side, so that you don’t have anything to worry about!”

Softly, Caleb smiled at her. “Danke, Nott. That is a very good idea. And then you can hold on to me better as we cross.”

“Alright, but first I need a drink.”

Furrowing his brow, Caleb looked around. “You want to cross yet tonight?” The sun was lowering in the sky as twilight overtook the land in deep teal greens and soft, midnight blues. If they fell…

“I don’t want to face it in the morning,” she said as she struggled with the cork on her flask before stopping abruptly.

“Was ist?”

“I forgot. There’s nothing left.” Nott’s voice wavered. “I used it all to disinfect your wound.”

Caleb shut his eyes tightly.

“It’s okay. I don’t need it. I have you.”

Poofing Frumpkin away until they crossed, Caleb shrugged off his coat, wasting no time. The river would old get colder the lower the sun fell in the sky. As he unbuckled the holster in which he kept his books, Caleb considered asking her to wait, his mind racing at the thought of the icy water. But they couldn’t wait. It was already the first of Quen’pillar.

He held out the holster and ever so slowly, with a deft movement of her tiny hands, Notts magic lifted first their packs and then the books and carried everything safely across the river, depositing it in a sparsely grassy area, hopefully neither too muddy or too wet.

“There. Safe and sound, as promised.” Behind her reassuring words, Caleb could still hear trepidation lurking. “Now it’s our turn.”

“I swear it, Nott, you will be safe.”

When she met his gaze, he saw something wholly unexpected, and blinked owlishly in response. “I know. But will you? We don’t…we can wait-“

“Nein.”

 _Gods_ , but he wanted to wait.

Sighing, Caleb looked to the river, resigning himself to the inevitability. Caleb set about removing his filthy tabard, dark with dirt and mud and dried blood. It dropped on top of the coat, followed by the belted pouches at his waist. Sitting down on the bank, Caleb undid the buckles on his boots before struggling to pull them off. Each one came loose with a firm and sudden jolt, which sent the left one flying a short distance. Nott retrieved it, and, carefully, Caleb set about bundling everything up inside the coat. “These too, bitte, if you are able.” Down to only his trousers and loose undershirt, toes already going numb on the cold ground, Caleb shivered as he watched the bundle hover its way across the river and settle next to their packs and his books.

“You’re sure?” Nott asked one more time. Only a curt nod came by way of response. Caleb lifted Nott into his arms, and from there she pulled herself up and onto his shoulders, putting her arms awkwardly around his head, circling it like a halo. “I’m ready. Are you ready?”

“As I will ever be.”

First contact with the water burned and stung, biting harsh at his feet and legs, like thousands of tiny, sharp pixie claws, all digging in at once. Stolidly he kept walking forward, angling himself, careful of his footing. Caleb was by no means clumsy, but with Nott sitting on his shoulders, Caleb knew that his center of balance was off, so he moved with more care than normal. Each step was sluggish. As the water got deeper and deeper, Caleb went slower and slower. The current pushed against his legs; submerged to the thighs, Caleb imagined that the pixies were trying to push him over, smiling and chittering with wicked glee. Nervous at the prospect of the current, Caleb angled himself downstream, avoiding the worst of opposing pressure. The further across they made it, the less unbearable it became. The water was so cold, Caleb almost couldn’t feel it at all from the shock. Numbly, he continued. Invisible in the murk, the ground began to slope at a steeper incline and Caleb fought for his balance. It was up to his chest now. The frenetic rush of water filled his ears muted all other sound completely. Nott was saying something, but Caleb didn’t hear it. For a split second, he lamented that they’d not had some grease stored that he could have blocked his ears. Unsteadily, he took another step forward. A shock of water pressure hit his back.

In an instant, he wasn’t standing anymore.

Caleb’s back hit a rock with a soft thunk. Chest burning, his body forced him to take a breath, even though his mind rebelled against it in fear. Water rushed into his ears and his nose and his mouth and he grasped frantically for purchase, blind and deaf and suffocating. Everything was too loud and too fast and-

Miraculously, his fingers caught on the jagged edge of a stone.

He held on. By what strength, Caleb did not know. Something was clasped about his head, thrashing above him wildly. Mind hazy, reflexes sluggish, it took him a moment to remember…something…

Nott.

Eyes flying open widely, Caleb pulled on the rock, muscles straining and burning as he hoisted himself up, pushing his head to the surface. The cold wind hit him like the spade end of a shovel. Coughing and spluttering, the current still relentless against him, Caleb managed to clamber up over the rock, holding tight to it as he sucked in a few tight breaths. Nott had a death grip around his neck, half choking him as she too hacked up water through choking sobs.

Gritting his teeth, Caleb pushed past the impossible stinging cold and hoisted himself carefully back up. They’d drifted rather farther downstream than he wanted, but it didn’t matter. They would get across. They had to. He would have to change tactics. He wasn’t strong, not by any means, but Caleb knew how to swim. Many summers in the lake had taught him the way to use his slender form to his advantage to propel himself fluidly through the water, and afternoons in the creek taught him how to catch slipstreams and utilize them to his advantage. Banishing everything else from mind, Caleb focused on Ikithon’s face, holding the memory of his imperious stare in his mind’s eye. Keeping his focus on the opposite bank, he began to swim towards land. It lay stretched open and wide, tantalizingly across the water.

With the last of his sapped strength, Caleb made it to the bank. Dragging himself from the water and onto the rocky ground. Nott, arms going limp, rolled off of him and landed on her back, her breath a discomfiting wheeze.

Caleb never had trouble following the passage of time, but the sojourn through the river left him disoriented, vision spotty and brain a blur. There was no telling how long it took to ford the river, and even more impossible to tell how long they’d lain in the cold. Distantly, Caleb recognized the fact that he was no longer shivering was probably a good indicator that it had been too long.

Forcing himself up on scratched and ragged palms, Caleb turned to look at Nott, who was lying far too still. His heart seized in his chest and he sluggishly lunged towards her, his breath coming in quick short bursts. It hung like suspended mist in the air in front of him.

“N-nn-nott. Nn-ott!” He whimpered her name, pulling her in close to him. Her garments were soaked and he cursed himself for not insisting that she also remove the outer layers, for promising her that he would keep her safe, for allowing himself to slip, for ever meeting her at all…

Sitting her up, he slammed his open hand on her back as hard as he was able. Water spilled from her lips and she gagged and coughed herself back to consciousness. Caleb sagged in relief, the thousand awful realities he’d imagined in the interim moments dissipating. She cracked one eye open and blearily found Caleb looking back at her.

“Shh-Nott, you a-re s-ss-afe. You a-re well an-and alive,” he stuttered, teeth chattering. “N-now let’s-s get you wa-warm.”

He helped her unwrap from the sopping cloak and hood, before setting about warming her up. Quickly he conjured fire in his hands and moved them around her person. Eventually, he snuffed out the light and took to rubbing up and down her arms as fast as he was able. When Nott was finally shivering again, Caleb knew that she would be alright. Taking her in his arms, Caleb staggered to his feet, searching for the spot where their things were piled.

Darkness had fallen upon them and he expended another spell, throwing three globules of light up into the air at various intervals ahead of him. Distantly, he could see an unnatural lump on the landscape. It was farther than he’d thought, but not as far as he had feared.

“We will make it. We will.” He whispered to her under his breath urgently.

By the time Caleb reached their things, Nott was mumbling incoherently, which was simultaneously comforting as well as concerning. Even though the spot was exposed, Caleb managed to wrangle the bare minimum of camp into place. He wasting no time drying and bundling Nott so she would be warm by the fire.

With what little remained of their herb stores and bark, Caleb heated a broth. Holding a cup to her lips he carefully eased her head up. “Come, Nott,” he urged. “You must drink.”

The liquid bubbled at her lips a bit before sliding down her throat. Cracking an eye open, Nott coughed a bit. “Y’za? Y’za, s’at you?”

Bitterly, Caleb shook his head, and blinked back unbidden tears. “It is Caleb, Schatz. It is only Caleb.”

_Of course she would not ask for you._

“Y’za…”

After muttering a little in a language Caleb couldn’t understand, she drifted off once more, Caleb sighed, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. It was going to be a long night.

 

Blessedly, in the morning, Nott was lucid and awake. Though slow moving, she seemed more determined than ever to keep up the pace, sniffling as she huddled in her stiffly dried and lightly frosted clothes. Caleb, apologetic and dismayed about things had gone, shifted his weight. “We do not have to get going so soon…”

“We do, Caleb. You said so yourself.” Nott replied firmly. “You’re the one who keeps saying that we don’t have time! So why are you saying that we can wait now?”

 _“There is no room for_ se _ntiment, my boy.” Ikithon’s voice dripped with disgust. “It will get you nowhere. You have potential, an untapped aptitude and if you let your_ pathetic _heart get in the way you will be_ nothing, _do you hear me?_ Nothing.”

Blinking back to the present, Caleb nodded in agreement. “You are right, Schatz. We cannot afford it. I will carry you again.” For a moment, it seemed like she would object, but in the end, Nott nodded and allowed him to lift her into his arms.

The going was slow. Although the hardest part was behind them (Caleb’s greatest fears had nearly come to pass, and, something told him, Nott’s worst nightmare) there were still leagues to travel before they reached their destination and many other untold dangerous besides the inclement weather. Atop that, Nott didn’t seem inclined to talk. She clung to his back tightly, but was uncharacteristically silent. Many of the days of their travel to Icehaven that summer had been filled with language lessons. So much so that Nott was able to speak fluently in Caleb’s mother tongue. It helped them blend in, certainly, when she disguised herself as a halfling or a gnome, and kept their conversations from being overheard in areas where the predominant language wasn’t Zemnian. Admittedly, that hadn’t exactly been often. The northern reaches of the Empire had once been their own land, the Zemni Fields, until they were annexed into the Dwendalian Empire. Not that any of the Dwendals had anything to do with it, of course.

 _“Someday, you will be very powerful, my boy. Someday, you may even take my place on the Assembly. And then, then you will understand, young man, what true power_ really _means.”_

True power would mean beating Ikithon at his own game.

Many nights, Caleb had spent, staring into the flames, thinking of how he would stand above the man he called Master and Teacher and would smite him with magic that he had helped Caleb coax forth from his fingertips. And then, when it was over, finally, Caleb could rest.

The thought warmed him from the inside out and he started to move more quickly towards the horizon. Dawn’s grey light pressed behind his eyes, making his temples throb, but his boots were dry and Nott was alive and the wind had died down. Before the week was out, the rolling remnants of barren foothills through which the river snaked would be far and few between and the plains would stretch out wide to the north and the east and the south. They would be exposed and their journey would grow far more difficult until they met up with the road into Yrrosa.

Havenpath was a bit of a misnomer. They’d used it getting into Icehaven, and in that sense, it was accurately titled, but the idea that it led to a haven of any sort was laughable. There was nothing in Icehaven save water in the summer months and ice the rest of the year. Ice and emptiness and failure.

Caleb carried Nott until midday, when the sun shone as a silver disk through the thick cloud cover and both their stomachs were grumbling. The wind was still absent, and she tapped his shoulder to let her down. When her clawed feet connected with the soil, she unstrapped her crossbow and started off into the underbrush. A hour and a half later they were underway once more, a brace of coney settling in their stomachs; gamey, unseasoned meat was better than nothing and, thought it had taken her nearly the whole time to find anything worth shooting, Nott was more capable than most. They would not starve, if only by the good grace of her impeccable aim.

That night, they bundled close together in the shelter of a sloping, washed out overhang, roots dangling loosely above their heads in the breeze.

“Caleb?”

The timbre of Nott’s voice shivered through the air.

“Ja, Nottchen?”

“We don’t have to cross any more rivers, do we?”

“Nein. We don’t.”

Sighing in relief, she snuggled closer to his chest. “Good.”

Much, much later, the moon bright overhead, Caleb woke to noises in the night, movement among the grasses and the softest wuffling sound.  Nott was already awake, holding the crossbow at the ready. With a short, jerky movement of her head, Nott directed him. Caleb turned soundlessly.

A wolf was nosing at their packs not ten feet away.

Willing his heart not to explode, Caleb looked back to Nott, who was still watching the Wolf with an intensity he’d never seen in her. Her stance was protective, over him, angled to attack at moment’s notice.

The wolf nudged open the bag with its nose, burrowing into the confines before pulling back out with the half wrapped remains of the second rabbit and trotting off into the distance. They waited for a time, until it became obvious that no more wolves would be arriving to disturb their sleep, and settled back in.

“We have seven more days, approximately, until we reach the road, Schatz,” Caleb said as he reorganized the pack the next morning. “If we continue on the way we have, we should be alright. This is the difficult part, after all.”

“Right,” Nott mumbled. “No roads.”

“Echt.”

Time was running out.

Their days continued on in much the same manner. There were a few wolves howling here and there, though none came by their camp. On the morning of the third day since they left the wolves behind, the very first, deep earth frost sank it’s icy tendrils into the ground.

It crunched beneath their feet, breaking into diamond sparkling shards of clear ice where water from the last of the Autumn’s rains had settled into haphazard pools on the plain and  brought with it a bitter cold wind, nipping viciously at their cheeks and noses. They’d been walking since long before sun up, rousted by more howling, louder and closer than before. It hadn’t made sense to stay. As dawn broke, they came upon a low hill.

“We should stop here for a while. Eat something. Warm up.”

Nott dropped her pack where she stood. “Good. I was worried that you’d want to keep going. You need a break.”

Caleb lit the fire.

In the days that passed since the debacle at the river, they’d hardly spoken more that the rudimentary necessities that traveling together required of them, and it didn’t seem like anything was about to change any time soon. Nott passed him the sack with a little dried meat in it and Caleb chewed thoroughly, working his jaw hard as he thought. It was his fault, of course, insisting as he had on going across the river. Angrily, the voice in his mind that sounded like Ikithon still hissed _sentiment_.

But Caleb knew it was true.

Bundled up tightly, they huddled side by side before the flames as the sun rose higher behind the hill. The fire was slowing, leaping and prowling less and less, so he removed one hand from its hibernation inside his coat and let the fire spring from his fingertips to the grow the blaze on the ground.

A cold wind, colder yet than any, save when they’d been sopping wet, engulfed Caleb and he shuddered. The fire leapt oddly in reaction, the way it might hand someone had passed a hand through it, before settling as the wind died back and disappeared for the time being. They stayed like that for a while before Caleb sighed to himself and turned to Nott. “Come. We must go now. As soon as possible, I think. We can’t remain in this cold weather much longer.”

Nott stuffed the food pouch back in the bag and picked up their things while Caleb saw to the fire. He wedged the side of his boot by a clump of dirt and pushed, stifling the flames little by little until they were gone.

The silence nagged at Caleb, as though there was suddenly a barrier between he and Nott where there hadn’t been before. As much as he wanted it to be gone, he wanted even less to ask her questions. They knew just enough about one another that their alliance ( _friendship, weak and exploitable_ ) remained beneficial to both parties.

Thinking back, Caleb considered how they had met. He had already been languishing in prison for many weeks by the time they brought her by, not by any intention on their part to actually jail her. Caleb shivered just thinking about it. He was already beyond starvation when they threw her unconscious form into the cell with him, taunting him about finally having a good meal – or making one himself.

When she woke, he still hadn’t moved, curled and crumpled in the corner by the barred window, waiting to see what would happen. Dazedly, she came to, rubbing her head and then, in beautifully articulated common, wondered aloud where she was. It was then Caleb knew that she would no sooner eat him than he would eat her. Especially when she sat up, eyes clearing and caught sight of him.

He must have looked a sight, tattered and ragged, bone thin, leaning lax against the stone wall, because she forgot her initial skittishness and scrambled over to him. Concern etched into her features, she petted at his forehead, whispering things about how poorly he’d been treated.

Nott hadn’t even known his name, hadn’t known him from any Hans or Ludwig on the streets, but ran to his aid. A goblin, nonetheless. For all she knew, he might have lashed out in desperation and tried to make supper of her, or could have been lying in wait the whole while to bludgeon her the moment she came near. Still she’d done it, tearing strips from the edge of her cloak to wrap and set his broken fingers as she soothed him.

Not once did she ask what he’d done. That, eventually, he volunteered – most of it at least – after they’d agreed to bind their fates until such time when they might naturally drift apart. In turn, Nott had only offered up her ‘chief most sins’ as she put it: being a drunk, kleptomaniac and a goblin. She’d held true to her every word since that moment well over a year prior.

Biting his lip, Caleb slowed up and stopped, waiting for her to do so as well.

“What is it?” He could hardly see her expression through the wrappings and the hood. It would be difficult for her when they weather grew even colder.

“Es tut mir leid. For the river. I did not mean for what happened to occur. I should never have made you cross.” Kneeling down beside her, Caleb put out his hand, entreating her. “I will not do it again. I swear.”

“Oh, Caleb.” Through her many layers, Nott’s expressive eyes widened. She pushed aside the scarf, exposing her face, and took his hand in hers. “You were right. It was necessary. I…” She looked away for a moment, shaking, but then looked back, determination visible in the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “It was terrifying, but the weather’s already getting worse and it’s only the beginning of Quen’pillar, if you’re right. And I _know_ you’re right. Back home, it would still be warm enough for just a light scarf. This is torturous. If we went all the way around, it would have been worse for us. You know best on these sort of things. And…” She eased out a breath, squeezing his hand tightly. “I trust you. With my life. You saved me. You saved me, and I will never, ever forget that. I accept your apology.”

Sighing in relief, Caleb slouched back. “Vielien Dank, mein liebling Schätzchen.”

“Always, Caleb, always. You’re my boy!”

Caleb closed his eyes to the praise, but they flew open in surprise when her diminutive form collided with him, little arms clinging tightly around his neck. One quick kiss found his cheek before she pulled away and fussed over his bangs.

“Now. We’d better keep moving.” Almost daintily she hopped from where she was standing on his thighs and righted her scarves. Then, she held out a hand. “Come on, Caleb. Let’s be off.”

Dutifully, Caleb took it and they turned further northwards, towards the Havenpath Road.

 

That night was another peaceful one. The frost was heavy on their clothes come morning, crackling as Caleb sat up from under his cloak. They needed supplies badly. A quick stop when they made Yrrosa would likely be enough. Everything else they had had been left in the inn at Icehaven when they ran from the guards, including the tarpaulin they used to lay on the ground during the rainy season. It would have been useful, and Caleb did not have any access to new books so that he could learn spells to stand in for protection against the elements.

They packed and were off quickly, but all the while, Caleb found himself mired in replaying the situation again and again. Everything had gone so terribly wrong. They’d planned for the necessity of a hasty exit, but then, nothing had gone quite as planned to begin with, so it hadn’t mattered.

Ikithon was gone, Nott was seen, Caleb _made_ a scene and they’d managed to bring down the whole of the town’s Crownsguard on themselves in the process. They were swarmed on the way out, Nott dodging and darting in and around legs, shooting off bolts from her crossbow whenever she had a chance while Caleb set fire to a street vendor’s stand, trying to slip out of their visual as well as their range. For a while, he’d been successful, but eventually, underfed as they still both were, Caleb’s breath had raged like smoldering embers in his lungs. Panting, a sharp shooting pain through his side signifying that he’d likely strained a muscle, Caleb had reached out to lean on the edge of a building when it happened. Quick and sharp like a papercut it cut through his clothes, embedding itself with a thunk into the wall in front of him.

When the bolt pierced Caleb’s side, Nott screamed. It was visceral, and wholly unexpected. A sound the likes of which Caleb would remember alongside those of his parents. A sound that reminded Caleb of his own screams, when Ikithon used to-

“Caleb! Look!”

He blinked out of the recollection. Reorienting himself, Caleb recognized that Nott was still holding his hand, but her other was extended outwards, pointing towards a faint cluster of evergreens, lost in the misty haze of the afternoon.

“Was ist, Nottchen?”

“Look.” Her voice was hardly a whisper. “Really look.”

Caleb tracked where she pointed. At first there was nothing. Just as he was about to turn back to her in confusion, he saw it.

A buck, entirely white, stripping bark from the trunk.

“Göttern…” He breathed.

Never before had Caleb seen anything like it. Majestic in its natural beauty, he could only watch on in growing dismay, remembering the stories he’d been told.  

Nott beat him to it.

“Back home, they used to say that if you saw a white stag, it meant something from another plane was nearby. They’re drawn by the shift in energies and auras.” Nott’s matter of fact tone did not escape Caleb, nor did the wistful edge to her voice, or the soft recurrence of the lilting accent she’d abandoned not long after they met.

“You believe this, Schatz?” He asked.

“Absolutely!” Then, pausing, she frowned. “Well, it’s either that or we’re trespassing on Fae land but-“ Nott turned in a circle, her arms out, as if surveying the area. “I don’t see any circles of mushrooms or any Creeping Charlie. So I’m pretty certain something on another plane is nearby!”

Caleb held his tongue. Nott’s eyes were wide with wonder and her toothy grin was larger than he’d seen it in a long time, and it hurt nothing to let her believe what she would.

“Tell me about ‘back home’ for you?” Caleb watched her curiously. “Where did you hear such a tale? I did not know that Goblins had such stories.”

“Oh well I don’t think goblins-“ She coughed, interrupting herself. “That is, I didn’t hear it from goblins. But I did hear it back home.”

“It is a lovely belief, Nott. Zemni is also filled with such stories, as you know. But ours are mostly sad.”

They watched as the white stag noticed them, blinking its large brown eyes before dashing off into the mist. Still they lingered. It was an omen, Caleb felt, though not the particular portent Nott described. His own mission sat heavy in his heart as he considered the implications. A quest pursued, unattainable, forever out of reach.

While Caleb wanted nothing more than to simply sit down on the ground and never get up again, Nott’s small hand in his pulled him along as she continued to chatter about tales from ‘home’. Caleb only listened halfheartedly. Once, he may have been interested beyond measure. Before books were written, verbal tales were all man had to tide of their longing for knowledge and understanding, the only way there was to make sense of the world and ones place in it. Although many of Nott’s stories seemed only partially remembered, Caleb nodded along and asked polite questions well until the night grew dark.

There was no good place to settle in that night, so they went without the fire, keeping it mostly in Caleb’s hands when they absolutely needed it. In the end, they ended up sharing an extra cloak for warmth as they pressed as low to the ground as they were able to hide their figures from anything that might be looking. Or anyone.

Caleb was in the throes of a nightmare when the scream vaulted him into consciousness. He sat up, shaking and shivering, blinking in the pitch black night, confused and discombobulated. An arrow whizzed past his ear. Caleb dove to the side, and conjured a ball of flame in his hand, shooting it out in the direction the arrow had come from, trying not to be distracted by the sounds that surrounded him.

“Caleb! Fire again!”

Nott’s directive thrust him into action and he shot two more off, momentarily lighting the space. The second found purchase on a scruffy individual holding a bow. His clothing lit up and then his hair. He screeched. Caleb flinched at the sound, at the visual. The image of the man seared itself into his mind, hovering a golden-red against the blackness.

There were two more strangled cries, accompanied by loud _thunks_ and then silence.

Caleb sat in shock, shaking where he was sprawled on the ground. Hands gripped his shoulders firmly, shaking him. A voice said something, but he couldn’t tell what was being said. The flames crawled up his eyelids and behind, into his skull where the inferno raged perpetually.

_–  fire leapt and grew and glowed, devouring and devouring the dark into its unforgiving maw, but leaving him untouched, mustering its fever pitch as it transformer into the piercing howl that was pulled ragged from within his chest, leaving his throat raw and his lungs bleeding as the timbers of the house blackened and crumbled into char and cinder, sparking and crackling and howling –_

A sharp _smack_ caught him across the face.

“Caleb! Are you hit?!”

Reeling, he fell forward into Nott’s arms, panting heavily.

“Caleb! Caleb, _please!_ ”

He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, but the images were still there, so he flung them open instead and found his face mashed up against Nott’s cloak as she rocked him, singing something to a tune he didn’t recognize, in that language she’d spoken before. He tried to focus on the enigma of it, on the shape of the words, and the trill of her beautiful voice, rasping and broken though it was.

Anything but the flame.

She went on for hours, until he could barely parse out the letter sounds she was so hoarse, at which point she switched to humming. Somewhere along the line, he stopped crying. Caleb had hardly realized that he had been, until he stopped. It surprised him, the tears, jarring his ambling focus for half a moment. Nott was swaying like sheaves of grain in a gentle breeze. The lulling motion drew his eyelids down and evened his breath, and, as Nott’s voice grew farther and farther away as if it were taking wing and flying south for the winter with the geese, Caleb gave in to unconsciousness.


	4. 3.

"I'm pretty lost in becoming all this frost. Bitter, like Winter. Strung-out like a string of pearls.”

~ Ashly Lorenzana

 

 **9** ** th ** **of Quen’pilar**

 

By the time Caleb woke the next morning, the bodies were gone. Nott resolutely refused to say _anything_ to him on the subject, talking instead about the weather and the things they needed to pick up when they hit Yrrosa and all of the things that they would need to buy that day to prepare them for the still extensive trek back to Rexxentrum.

Caleb tried to be grateful to her for attempting to protect him, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t say a word the rest of the walk to the Havenpath road, choosing instead to let Nott’s prattle fade into white noise while his mind focused rigidly on the things which inevitably would come to pass. Main roads were no real boon to a scrawny beggar and a tiny goblin girl. They invited visibility and curiosity from other travelers that they could little afford, for one. And, just as the night prior proved, more danger from other people than from wandering animals.

“We’ll need to stock up on whatever victuals we can. Do you think they’ll let us? I have a little coin now…” Nott was saying.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Caleb nodded. “If we are lucky. We are not likely to get much dried meat though, as I am sure many have already sought to buy it all.”

Nott hummed to herself thoughtfully. “Perhaps some hunters will have come by recently. You never know.”

Her good and hopeful nature led Caleb to flash a tiny smile, but the realities were converging in on them in a way that positive thinking would do very little to deflect. After the weeks they’d just spent slogging through a forest and mud and then the accident at the river…he knew he must look a worse mess than he had in a long, long time. His beard was full and scraggly, his hair hanging at different lengths from when Nott had to cuts burs out of it. Covered from head to toe in grime, surely stinking to high hell, even after the dunk in the river, Caleb knew it would be a miracle if they weren’t heckled the minute they stepped into Yrrosa, unless of course they were ignored completely, which wouldn’t get them anywhere either.

Of course, there was always magic. A risk, especially the closer they grew to Rexxentrum. For a beggar to be caught using magic, much less to pass himself off as someone wealthier, was to practically invite the executioner to chop off your head. When they’d passed through Yrrosa on the way to Icehaven that summer, they’d used no magic at all. It was simply too dangerous, and they’d had little need of it at that point. Anyone was willing to sell for the right amount of coin, and they’d left Rexxentrum with nicely weighted pockets, despite Caleb’s state of dress and Nott’s hidden form.

But in winter, people were far more careful with whom they dealt, and far more suspicious to boot. Shopkeepers couldn’t afford to deal with the wrong people when the weather was already a hairsbreadth away from killing them by itself. Food stores were more precious than any fine gem or precious metal when a gentle wind could cause a person to lose a finger in minutes.

And Caleb and Nott were very, very obviously the ‘wrong people’.

The anxiety of attempting even a minor illusion on himself and being discovered was too much. That was how he’d ended up imprisoned the last time, and prison was a more dangerous place even than the bitter cold of the Zemni wilds.

In prison, he could be discovered. In prison, he was vulnerable.

In prison, all his dark dreams would come to naught.

“Stop.” Nott planted her feet, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t give me that look. I know what’s going through that great, smart head of yours. I’ll handle it. You’re…you’re in no condition for dealing with people _like that_ right now. I’ve got practice.

“But…”Caleb started quietly, the first words he’d spoken all day. “You might be discovered.”

“I won’t.” She insisted. “Let me take care of this, Caleb. Please. We won’t get there until tomorrow afternoon anyways. And, I already know what I’m going to do.”

“Don’t-“

“Use magic.” She nodded, patting his hand placatingly. “Yes, I know. I don’t want to be arrested again any more than you do. At least, not before we’re back in Rexxentrum.”

Rexxentrum, where using magic among the lower classes was punishable by death.

Rexxentrum, where they would _have_ to use magic.

Rexxentrum, where they were headed.

“Please, Caleb. Let me do this. I can do this.” There was almost a neediness to her voice, as though if she didn’t, there would be some level of physical distress on her part.

“Of course, Schatz. I could not stop you if I tried. You know that.”

“Thank you, Caleb.” He watched her anxiety almost physically seep away as she relaxed her pin-straight back and loosened her grip. “Now,” she stated firmly. “we’re near the road. We’d better keep moving if we want to reach it by dark.”

Caleb’s fingers were swollen up, _a little like sausages_ , thought his hungry-stomach brain. The blood at their tips sat thick and heavy, making it difficult to curl them at the joints. Casting, as such, would be almost impossible. He swore up at the sky. Nott tugged on his sleeve.

“It’s okay, Caleb. We can make it one more night. ”

Without waiting for him to respond, she took his hand and they were off once more.

 

After one last night spent camped on the side of the road, and a half-day’s travel, Yrrosa rose up out of the dipping valley and into view. It was nowhere near as large or as grand as Rexxentrum, and hardly a third the spectacle that was Zadash. In reality, it was little more than a small village, comprised mostly of hunters who needed a place to settle once, long ago. Larger than a trading post and smaller than a town, Yrrosa was a black spot on the frosted white expanse of the world.

Their stomachs were growling by the time they entered the village, the scents – pleasant and unpleasant – assaulted their senses in the empty cold. The shelter of the town did little to alleviate the assault of the wind. It was funneled down the streets instead of blocked by the shambling houses, streamlining the billows of cold. Caleb and Nott pulled their cloaks more tightly about them, ducking their heads as they strode in head first.

The general store was their first stop, Nott motioning to him to stand elsewhere while she went to the front. Looking about generally, Caleb noticed a few things they’d need and added them to his mental list, which was divided into two columns: necessities and desirables, narrowing it down as he went, uncertain of just how much coin she managed to take from the bandits they’d slain the night before.  

“-should do it. Anything else?” he heard the man say. Nott turned back to him for confirmation and he held up two items, a pack of medicinal herbs and some salve for windburned skin.

She pointed at him from where she stood. “How much more for those two item?”

“Five copper a piece.”

They must have had enough, because Nott nodded before managing to take the bundle of items from the man, who had to lean extremely far forward to bring it into her reach. After situating it more comfortably in her arms, she asked, “Know of someplace we could get a hot meal?”

“There’s an Inn not far down the road. Three down on the left. The Clever Fox.”

“Thank you.”

They braved the cold once more, barely able to look up from under their hoods to see the violently swinging sign, which depicted a white fox with a brown speckled hen in its mouth. Inside, the potent scent of hops and savory meats, the groaning creak of contracting wood within the framework of the building, and the subtle murmur of low voices.

The silver haired half elf who stood behind the bar acknowledged them as they entered. When Caleb put up two fingers, they nodded back at him in understanding. Nott led Caleb to a dark corner not too far from the fire where they gathered themselves, shaking off the unbearable cold. The warmth it exuded made Caleb’s legs prickles as the thick blood began to circulate.

With simultaneous thunks, the barkeep set two frothing tankards on the table. “That’ll be a silver and four copper.”

One carefully wrapped hand slid out from Nott’s robes to pay them. Caleb observed how they raised their already finely arching brows, but took the coin all the same before heading back to the bar. As soon as their back was turned, Nott lifted the tankard and took a long draught.

“Ah, that’s good! Warms the belly, Caleb. Have some. You need it.” She pulled back her hood and took his hand from where it was outstretched on the table. “You’re too pale, Cay. I’m worried about you.” There was a hesitance about her tone that made Caleb nervous, as though she was intending to say something more, something about which he had no desire to speak. Though she meant well, the fear of it drew up tight in a furious ball in his chest.

Perhaps Nott noticed something in his eyes, because she did not continue, though the stern set of her mouth betrayed her.

Laboriously, he lifted his free hand and took a drink.

The ale was passable at best, but it set his aching muscles and tired bones at ease for the first time in a long while and Nott seemed pleased.

“What did we get?” he asked, as soon as he put the drink back down. Nott turned to where she’d pile their things on the chair next to her. “Everything we needed?”

“Well, you got that pack of herbs; that was good. And I managed to get us a few packets of dried meats and –“ She rummaged about in the wrap of items. “I got you this.”

At first, Caleb did not understand, but she held it open further and he recognized the garment for what it was. The interior of the cloak was a warm wool, but the exterior had been rubbed down with linseed oils to make it slick enough that it would keep out the snow and frost overnight and in the worst of blizzards to come. Taking it from her, Caleb let a genuine smile cross his face.

“Oh, Schatz, this had to have been…”

“Don’t Caleb.” She fixed him with a hard gaze. “It’s something we needed. And it’s big enough that both of us can fit under it.”

“Of course.” He wouldn’t fight her, not over that. “How much do we have left?”

“Enough for lunch.”

Once they had supped, and packed away their new supplies, including a tarpaulin that was also weatherproofed, though not half so nicely as Caleb’s new cloak, they started off down the road once more.

It was easier going, protected as he was by from the wind by the new cloak, his torso insulated by the scratchy but comforting wool. Nott tucked herself very carefully into his side, taking as much shelter as she was able by cleaving to his legs.

During the next two weeks of their travels along the road, the snow began to fall. Like a heavy blanket of the finest cotton, it muted out the world around, all sound softened, all colours faded away, until there was only white. It was wet and heavy and cold. Though it melted on contact with Caleb’s skin, it clung to his trousers and leg wraps, and on Nott’s cloak, which wasn’t weatherproofed like his own. It had grown quite cold by the time they were halfway to Rexxentrum from Yrrosa, snowing a little (or a lot) almost every day.

Everything was damp by midday, so they veered off the road to copse of trees where they found a patch of damp earth sheltered from the snow, lay out the tarpaulin in half and set a fire going before them to dry out their things, unwrapping themselves almost completely from their confines. Caleb’s scarf fell heavily to the ground beside the pack.

He was gingerly pulling at his threadbare gloved when he felt the most acute icy touch against his cheek. It was so shockingly cold, he was almost unsure if he’d been pierced by some sort of flying ice on the wind, and lifted his hand to check. A bout of shivering overtook him.

“Nottchen, come closer please.” She was too far away for weather so cold. Small and not used to the bitterness of Zemni’s winters. The fire will make us warm, and you know you need it more than I.” She did as he asked, not speaking as she pinched her shoulders up to her ears. “Take off your cloak. We must dry it, or you will freeze.”

“Yes, but,” she replied in Zemnian. “It’s _so_ cold.”

“I know, Nottchen. I know.”

The going, from thereon in, was rough as the terrain changed around them. As they looped back up to the northeast, following the road, the snow only increased as a result of the area’s geography.

Rexxentrum rested in the shadow of the Dunrock Mountains at the crux point where the Erdeloch and Fistus River met. To the Southeast, the Silberquel Ridge rose up from the green expanse of the Pealbow wilderness, which flanked the city to the north and east, while the area immediately to the south of the Erdeloch stretched down into a valley of grassy green lowlands. With the Loch being located where it was, the influx of snow was something Caleb knew to anticipate.

Regardless of their trajectory, the river blocked the way between the westerly lands and Rexxentrum almost completely. There were two points over which the Fistus could be crossed, where the bridges had been built of old to withstand any assault, and to be easily guarded. The southmost one led in from the Bromkiln Byway, while the Northmost, immediately at the mouth of the Erdeloch, ran down from the Havenpath Road. A part of Caleb was relieved that they were not crossing to the south, where the bridge was more heavily guarded. Havenpath Road was little traveled by comparison. And that was the point of contention. While it was less well guarded, it meant that those who passed across it were more easily remembered.

And Caleb did not wish to be remembered.

When they left by the same way in the summer, they’d hitched a ride on the back of a wagon, appearing mostly to be simply members of the same group, and were paid very little mind. Besides, it didn’t generally matter who left. It was more important to know who was coming in.

By Caleb’s reckoning, they were only a few days away when the first hazy segments of the cities great towers became visible through the snow. Settled on the hill as it was, Rexxentrum had been built down and outwards. The first tier of the city sprung up first, walled in, save for the section where the wall was built into the sides of the towering heights of Dwendal’s schloss, the impenetrable fortress of Dovrediamant. And, above even that, rose the Archmages’ Tower, which, though it was on the same tier had been built on a lower elevation. How Dwendall stood it that his mage’s seat of power was physically above his own, Caleb did not know, and did not particularly care, despite the fact that it had been discussed many a time amongst commoners in the streets.

Caleb wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about having to return to the capital city of the Empire. There were people there who were not unkind. Good, decent people who deserved good, decent things. And then there was the Crownsguard and the magic ban, among other things. Neither of which were particularly good for Caleb and Nott.

Two days out, they managed to go unnoticed by a few patrols in the dense snow. Quen’pillar was almost at its end, and then, winter would truly set in for the length of Cuersaar, Duscar, and even the earliest days of Horisal. But they had made it; that was the important thing.

As they approached the bridge, Caleb noticed a Day Watch patrolling on either side. They wouldn’t be checked, not like at a border, but they would be noted and observed, filed away into each person’s report, which would find its way to a superior and their daily report, which would find its way to that person’s superior and corresponding report, each in a more condensed form based upon the relative importance of the information and then, finally, one report would reach the Archmages. Martinet Lunidus Da’leth would look at it, but Ikithon would already have had a copy made for himself before Da’leth ever saw it, already sure to be making adjustments to the information that the town criers would be spreading to the people, and the orders that the Watchmaster’s personnel would be receiving the next day.

All this Caleb knew, because once upon a time, he had been the errand boy who fetched the reports and made the copy for Ikithon before turning over the original to the Martinet. If he looked inconspicuous enough, he would be forgotten by the second watchman’s report and it wouldn’t matter. But there was always the chance that something would stand out and Ikithon would go looking for the first few reports _just_ to check.

And yet, Caleb had been living within the city secretly for well over a year before he and Nott met. It would be down to chance. That much was certain. Pulling his hood more tightly down over his face, wishing it were but a little warmer that he could have rubbed dirt into his skin, Caleb was only thankful for the weather in that everyone who passed by, including the guards themselves, were thoroughly bundled and covered to similar points of disguise.

They passed over the bridge with only a nod from one of the guards.

Caleb’s breath curled in the air around them like dragonsmoke, and Nott clung even more tightly to his legs, but they crossed without incident, entering the city seemingly inconspicuously. That was, of course, the common misconception about Rexxentrum. One could go anywhere they pleased without any seeming barrier. They key to that, of course, was old, very carefully laid arcane barriers. Someone could enter an area, who wasn’t cleared to be there, set off an alarm without ever knowing and be swept off the streets and never seen again later that same day.

But Caleb knew those tricks, and knew them well. That, at least, he had on his side.

The road curved around and eventually met with the traffic from the Bromkiln Byway. Towards dusk, they finally passed through the last of the sprawling lowlands that lead up to the city. Blessedly, the road grew more and more traveled and they both took to the growing crowd like the beggars they were, disappearing into the writhing, bustling masses along the road, invisible and ignored. The first wall rose up out of the valley, its arching stonework traced in the clinging white snow and frost crystals, leaving it to a half-shaded appearance. Through the grand arch, carts and horses and people on foot came and went; not even the failing light stopped the busy trade route in and out of Rexxentrum.

When they were sufficiently into the first tier of the city, Nott pulled Caleb aside and around to an alleyway. They pulled up some crates and made the corner a palatable place to sleep for the incoming night. Though there was one place where they could have gone, it wasn’t safe to stay there if they didn’t have to. The Traveller’s Way was owned by a tiefling woman. Staffed exclusively by the owner herself and one other barkeep, a half-orc man, the Traveller’s Way was not the most frequented, but neither was it constantly empty. The owner, Jester Lavorre, unlike many others, allowed them into her establishment, no questions asked, regardless of the fact that they were beggars and could generally not pay her, pulling cons in her bar to make the coin to actually do so. Though their presence was not enough to drive business away, it was enough to make some look twice at her. Most folk wouldn’t have batted an eye – money, after all, was money – but there were some who found her willingness to take them in suspect, and Caleb couldn’t afford to arouse any suspicion, not when they were finally in the same city as Ikithon.

Jarring compared to the relative quiet that they’d experienced over the past several months, the sights and sounds of the city fell over them in the early morn, just as daybreak crested the wall of the first tier.  The morning found them dreary under dense cloud cover that seemed unlikely to blow away. Indeed, the whole of the world may as well have been surrounded by clouds for all that they were able to tell, but that didn’t put Rexxentrum on hold.

Packing their things, quickly, Caleb and Nott started off for the morning towards the main square in the second tier, where the Straßenmarkt would already be filled with people. The sights and sounds were equaled only by the distinctive smells of meat roasting, hot mulled wine - drunk to excess- fresh bakery and trade spices. Horses weren’t allowed past the third tier, save for those owned by the Crownsguard and other upstanding members of the community, whose beasts were kept in private stables in the fifth tier of the city.

Nott stuck her hands into her pockets and pulled them out empty. “I used the last back in Yrrosa, Caleb.”

“Ah. Ja, I see.”

Penniless was never an ideal situation to be in in Rexxentrum. It was far easier to lift someone’s coin and then pay people for their goods, than it was to lift someone’s products. And they were both eyeing the bretzeln at the baker’s stall.

“I’ll be back.” Nott winked at him before darting off through the market weaving under and through handpulled carts, and people’s legs. Caleb watched her go as unconcernedly as possible, before snapping his fingers so that Frumpkin would appear beneath a stall and then directed him to dart out towards his master.

Scooping the fae-cat up, Caleb nuzzled his cold nose in ever-warm fur before surveying the prospects. In any other town, Caleb would have messaged Nott with his wire from behind Frumpkin, but even as he had the thought, a Crownsguard rounded the corner, their face perfectly amicable. All the same, orders were orders and few Crownsguard would ever hesitate to carry them out.

A few minutes later, Nott returned, a triumphant smile on her face. “I’ve got it all here.” She patted her pocket. “Left the pouch on the ground by the cartographer’s door. We’re good to go.”

Caleb smiled genially. “Breakfast then?”

“Absolutely.”

Casually, Nott dropped her hand into her pocket and passed off a few coin. “I’d like one of those rolls and some dried meat for later, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, Nott. I will see to it.”

Caleb made his way to the stall, pulling tightly at his tattered scarf. “Ah, hallo. Zwei bretzeln, bitte.”

“Zwo, kein problem, Herr _Rotfuchs._ ” The baker put out a hand. “That will be a silver, then.”

Caleb stiffened at the nickname, pushing the loose hair back from his face, resolving to tie it up better when he had the chance. He heard variations on ‘fox’ often enough through the north, especially when people went without asking his name. The larger cities were typical in that way. But to hear that particular angle on the name, and in this town, was something that worried him. Earning himself a nickname, becoming recognizable was the last thing he wanted.

Passing off the silver, which was so cold against his skin, it nearly stuck to his fingers, Caleb shuffled the two proffered rolls into his other hand. “Danke,” he said, nodding to the vendor before slipping away, back to the place where he had left Nott. Though she wasn’t there when he returned, Caleb waited anyways, sticking his roll into a pocket to warm the space, and stuffing his hand in to warm it in turn. The other he held behind his jacket while he waited.

A few minutes later, he spotted Nott’s nimble form making her way carefully through the crowd. She smiled widely up at him, holding something behind her back. “I bought you something, Cay,” she said. “Close your eyes!”

“Alright.”

He did as she asked, shutting his eyes briefly.

“You can open them now!”

Caleb looked down to see her almost entirely obscured by the gift she held aloft in her hands: a soft, cornflower blue knitted scarf.

“Oh, Schätzchen…”

It was soft in against his fingertips, softer than anything he had touched in a long time. “You did not have to do this.” Caleb’s eyes were wide in awe.

“On the contrary!” she declared. “I absolutely had to. That one is full of holes and made of fabric, but this one is knitted. You need to stay warm, now more than ever. And…” she glanced to the side. “You deserve it, Caleb. You deserve nice things. And I want to give them to you.”

It took Caleb a moment, but eventually, tentatively, he accepted it from her. “Thank you, Nott. Thank you.”

“Good. Put that on now, or you’ll catch cold. Have you got my bretzeln?” She asked lightly, as though something weighty had not just passed between them.

He handed it to her and she took it, munching happily. At loss for words, Caleb simply watched her, eyes misty. He was so distracted, he hardly noticed her stop eating.

“Caleb? What is it?”

Blinking rapidly, he shook his head. “Nichts. Nothing. It is nothing. Eat your roll.”

Ignoring her watchful gaze, Caleb hung the new scarf around his neck, and pulled the cooling roll from his pocket to eat.

“So, have you got a plan yet?” Nott asked as she finished the last bite.

“Ah, I am working on it. First we need to procure some information. We have been gone too long.” He sighed, considering all of the things that could have changed in his time away. The times and routes of Crownsguard watches, the best alleys to bed down for the night without worry that they would be found, Ikithon’s daily schedule, the plans for future empire sanctioned celebrations and holidays. The times and places where Ikithon would be present in public, visible and vulnerable, or, alternatively, times when the Tower would be empty and more easily accessible. “There are too many things that may have changed, and I would not dare send you into more danger than we planned for.”

Nott glared at him, her face a mask of consternation. “But you’d send yourself into more danger, is that it?” She eyed him with such suspicion that he almost took a step back. “Caleb Widogast, how dare you!”

“Schatz-”

“Don't you dare 'Schatz’ me, Caleb Widogast! I go where you go, don't you understand that yet?”

A dark shadow fell over Caleb's face. “Nott. If you don't have to go into more danger on my account, then so much the better.”

“Yes, but I _choose_ to go with Caleb, it's my choice!”

Her voice grew loud and Caleb looked about in alarm to see if anyone noticed, putting a finger to his lips. “Hush,” he hissed. “If anyone were to hear you-”

“Fine! But I'm not leaving you, Caleb. I'm not. When I make promises, I keep them.”

Whatever was behind that particular remark, Caleb did not know, and neither was he willing to press her further.

“And don't think that this conversation is over.” Deftly, she pulled herself up to stand on the barrel beside him and pulled him over by the scarf, tugging on it to make it even. “We'll talk about this later. But right now, we have other things to do.”

Despite it all, Caleb couldn't help but smile. When Nott got down to business, she was unstoppable.

“Such as?”

“Reconnaissance? Where do you need me to sneak to? What would you like me to filch?”

This, he could handle. “Well, we need to ascertain that the guard shifts are the same, and find a few safe places to sleep to start.”

Nott gave him a look.

“Ja, ja, I know that no place is really safe to sleep. But you know what I meant.”

Begrudgingly, Nott rolled her eyes. “Yes, mister smarty pants. You’re right. I do know what you mean, but you had to acknowledge that I’m right. So please, please, Caleb, be careful.”

“You too.”

“Right then.” She clapped the crumbs from her hands before settling them determinedly on her hips. “Let’s you and I get to work. I’ll watch the guards and you work the other penniless waifs, yeah?”

Caleb couldn’t help but laugh a little, and, in that that moment, they both knew that she had won. “You are also one of those penniless waifs, Nottchen.”

Jauntily, she raised an eyebrow and jingled her pouch just a little bit. “No I’m not!” Flashing him a grin, she hopped down from the barrel. “Here.” Surreptitiously, she passed him a handful  of coins. “Meet back here uh…”

 “It is half eight, right now. Meet at nine.”

“Nine. Excellent.” Furtively, she pulled her hood low and darted off into the crowd, disappearing before even Caleb’s keen eyes.

When he'd lost sight of her completely, Caleb started back down towards the first tier. All along the outer wall the street beggars lay claim to parceled sections beneath the slight overhang afforded by the wood supplemented ramparts. The wall itself was wide enough that horses and carts could move along the top, so the overhang was enough, when the wind was right, at least, to shelter the most unfortunate who were caught sleeping in city alcoves and streets. The Crownsguard tolerated very little by way of general riffraff, but that didn’t stop people from trying, Nott and Caleb included.

He searched through the dirty faces and tattered clothing of the “Bettlerhof” or Beggars’ Court for a familiar face. Ulysses Stanneras, once a well-considered noble from Zadash (if he were to be believed) was now a glorified tour guide and the best person to ask for any sort of in-the-know information.

Just the person Caleb wanted to talk to. He knew everything there was to know about the goings-on in the first three tiers, for the right price, of course. The upper class and the Crownsguard thought him a hustler at best, if only because they were the ones he actually hustled. The rest of the world had his honesty and good word. Truely, there was nothing quite like spite to propel a man through life.

Caleb found him on the main road, not far from the Bettlerhof, dark cloak pulled over his head while quick hands exchanged contraband copper for a few quiet whispers. Like a shadow, Caleb followed him until he turned the corner to an alleyway.

When Caleb entered, he was prepared for the verbal assault that followed.

“Excuse me, my good sir but _why are you following me?!”_

Caleb pulled back his hood and watched as Stanneras’ expression changed.

“Oh. It's you. Hello.” He smiled a bit, cheeks rosy. “You've been gone a long while. I thought you were likely crow's food by now. That little shifty one still with you?”

“Ja, but she is tending other business at the moment.”

Stanneras scoffed. “Bah. Business. More like stealing 's what. She'll be the death of you yet, mark my words,” he said, shaking a finger at Caleb. “But to each their own.” A smooth smile slide into place on his round but greying features. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“As you said, I have been gone a long while,” Caleb began in Common. “I need information. Updates. On the state of the city. Good places to sleep. That sort of thing.”

One hand stuck out of the cloak sleeve, stumpy fingers wiggling in expectation. Caleb gave him a single gold coin.

“My, my. Aren't we doing well today? I have it on good authority that the alley across from the Strohner's bakery is a good place to shelter. Also behind that old Apothecary on the second tier. Magnusson's, I think? And both should be conveniently free this week. I've not told a soul yet.”

Caleb nodded, considering the two locations. The Bäckerei offered a nearly unobstructed view of the Tower, but the Apotheke would be a good secondary location. “Danke. I would thank you to not share that information with anyone else for at least a few days.”

“Oh course. Anything else?”

Without hesitation, Caleb pulled five more gold coins from his pouch and dropped them in Stanneras hand. Jaw slackened, he gazed up warily at Caleb, waiting nervously.

“I need the name of the runner who takes the Watchmaster's reports to Martinet Da'leth as well as any information you can give me about Archmage Ikithon's return from Icehaven two months ago. There is another three gold where this comes from in it for you if the information is good.”

Ulysses’ eyes narrowed. “Whatever you're up to, my name stays out of it, you hear?”

“Vollständig.”

Weighing the coin in his hand, Stanneras seemed to come to terms with his qualms. He pocketed the money. “A young lad by the name of Julien.” Caleb cringed at his very Zadashi pronunciation, hard 'j’ and all, but said nothing. “Towheaded. Tall, rail thin. Fresh-faced but with a serious look. Can't be more than sixteen. I've seen him around with some of the others on the fifth tier.”

Caleb committed the information to memory. “And Ikithon?”

“I'm getting to it.” He held his hands up between them, as though Caleb would advance upon in at any minute. “When he came back from Icehaven, you said?”

“Ja.”

“Well,” Ulysses rubbed the thicket of grey hair on his chin. “There wasn’t any word through the pipeline about anything, um, concerning, if you know what I’m saying. Just the usual.”

“No change in routine? No special announcements? No new decrees from the Assembly?”

That time, Stanneras did take a step back. “No. Nothing. Nothing at all, save the usual blathers about the Xhorhaasians, you know. Goodness, what more do you want to know?”

The frightened gleam in his eyes gave Caleb pause. “Nothing. Knowing that there has been no change is still information. Thank you.” He passed off the last of the gold. I am sorry. I did not mean to be-“

“Pushy? Forceful? Aggressive?”

“I did not mean to be offensive, Stanneras. Danke for everything that you have shared. I will go now.”

“Yes!” The interjection came sharply. “And don’t come back again. You’ve been reasonable in the past, and your coin is good, but I can’t have you coming around asking questions like that. There’s always ears and eyes in places that you don’t know about. And I won’t have them coming round for _my_ head just because you have questions about the Archmage of Civil Influence!” Stanneras shook his head in sympathy. “I’m sorry, whoever you are. But you’re on your own.”

With resignation, Caleb hung his head and closed his eyes, remaining in the shadows while the other man quickly put distance between them. By the time Caleb made it back to the Straßenmarkt, it was nearing nine. For a few silver, Caleb pocketed the dried meats that Nott asked him for previously and found an out of the way spot where he could see and remain unseen.

Still, somehow, Nott managed to sneak up on him. “Hi Caleb.”

Relief coursed through his veins. Even a short time without her was nerve-wracking. They were stronger together than apart; if she were caught out and he wasn’t there… “Hallo, Nott.” He saw the same worry reflected in her eyes.

“It’s alright, Caleb. I got away clean. It’s not like I was doing anything illegal anyways.” She grinned. “The guard doesn’t appear to have changed. Day shifts still switch on the quarter-hour. I’ll do another check on night shifts later. What about things on your end?”

Caleb shook his head. “Minimal news. We can stay at the alley across from the baker’s tonight, and, if we need to move tomorrow, there’s an alley behind the Apothecary’s. Also, I have a name for the courier; he is called Julien, a boy of sixteen. I wish to look for him later. I want to watch him, I want to know his every move.”

“Okay, Caleb. Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do.” Something was shining brightly in her eyes, something for which he didn’t have a name. “But, for now, let’s get some food in your belly.” One small hand fell on his forearm when he didn’t immediately move or reply. “I know you are focused, and that’s good, Caleb. It’s good to be focused, but you need to take care of yourself, too, or you won’t be able to do anything. Please, Caleb.”

Concern and something more. His stomach grumbled and he rubbed his temple. A meal sounded good. Something hot in their bellies for the first time since Yrrosa.

“Ja. We can eat.”

“The Traveller’s Way?” Nott asked hopefully.

“Nein. We cannot be seen there if we can help it. Remember the last time? And this morning, the Bäckerin called me ‘Rotfuchs’.”

Nott bit her lip. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Caleb. A lot of people probably think of foxes when they see your hair, it doesn’t mean that they-“

“It _will_. You _know_ that it will, Nott.”

He tried to turn away from her, but she pulled him down to her level and took her face between her hands. “Caleb. If you _think_ suspicious, you _look_ suspicious. So just, take a breath. And stop.”

He took a breath, and then another. “I do not know what I would do without you.”

“You’d figure something out. I know you would.”

There was trust in her eyes. Trust and affection that he didn’t deserve, but he basked in it anyways.

 

In the late afternoon, they set out for the fifth tier. With stiff legs, muscles prickling from the cold, they walked the ever-climbing incline as it wove back and forth through the city proper.

“We’ll just mosey our way up. No big deal.” Nott stuck her hands in her pockets. Caleb looked her up and down.

“And that is not at all suspicious?” he asked skeptically.

Nott harrumphed. “If you don’t look suspicious then no one will even bother with me!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” The conviction in her voice was almost comical. “Absolutely.”

“Then I will trust in your ability to be unobtrusive while we follow young Julien about.”

They waited outside the dormitory building for several hours, Caleb holding out one of their small tankards as if looking for alms. The metal bit into his hands, but the rouse was generally a good one. No one on the fifth tier wanted to look at them at all, save a few elderly ladies in fur lined cloaks who hastily pulled their arms back into their sleeves as soon as the coin clanked on the bottom.

If the difference between the first and third tiers was like night and day, then the fifth tier might as well have been a different realm all together. While Caleb was not so poorly dressed (especially wearing the new cloak Nott had bought for him) as to stick out on even the third tier, there was an obvious difference in the economic standing of the people that milled about the Dormitory square. Students in their uniforms, employed mages, artificers, and alchemists in their nice robes, and low level artisans all called the fifth tier home.

So, once, had Caleb.

He could remember rushing about between the streets, going from place to place on errands, the symbol of the Cerberus Academy embroidered on the right shoulder of his outermost tan tunic, the red tabards over his shoulders marking him out as one of the elite Studenten des Aufklärung, students of the Enlightenment. Each student was handpicked by Ikithon himself to join the rank and file of the so called “Record’s Agency”, the _Unterlagen-Behörde,_ fondly (or not so fondly, depending on to whom one talked) known as Ikithon’s Red Hands.

And there, running past them with flaxen-white hair and vermilion tabards flapping in the wind, was a student, following the same route that Caleb used to.

Julien. And he was headed down to…

“The short cut!” Caleb exclaimed aside to Nott. “He doesn’t know to take the shortcut. Follow me. We must be quick as we can.”

Dusk was falling, earlier and earlier as the season grew darker, and already the world grew desaturated, but Caleb knew the pathways around the dormitory well. He wasted no time moving from one shadow to the next, following his memory more than his eyes through the darkening streets and alleys. Caleb and Nott rounded the corner, looking out into the street. A few people milled about, but most were making their way indoors, cheeks stung pink by the wind, which had grown harsher by day’s end.

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to try and steal it from him?” Nott whisper-hissed. “Or what? I’m sure I could get it.”

“Nein. We just watch. I just want to see his face. I want to know so that I can-“

Caleb turned back, just in time to see Julien disappear down an alleyways towards a dimly lit building, just off the sidestreet. Julien was _not_ going where he anticipated. “Oh!” He bit his lip and looked at Nott, torn.

“What is it Cay?”

“He is only just having the copy made.” The plan formed in his mind, and the words started to fly from his mind to his lips, nearly faster than he could articulate them. “When I was first assigned this role, I did not have the capability…he must...this means…forgive me, Nott, but this means that, if we are very, very careful…” Even _thinking_ about it set his nerves aflame, his adrenaline spiking. “The Watchmaster’s seal must be carefully replicated, as the documents are always checked for a jark. Ikithon has a man, a very good Cartographer, for such occasions when arcane spells are not enough and that is his shop and if this Julien has not had the copy made, then he is already very late, which means that he is very likely very nervous and not paying very good attention and-“

“Do you want me to steal it, Caleb?” Nott asked slowly and calmly. “Because I can do that, if you need me to.”

Boring a hole with his gaze into the wall just behind her, Caleb could _feel_ the second ticking past, each moment wasted a moment more likely that the first spot of genuine luck he’d had in a long, long time would slip through his fingers.

“Caleb, you need to decide. Should I do it? Should I not do it? Because if we’re gonna, I’ve gotta go, right now.” Her agitation rose. “What do I do? What do you want me to-“

“Ja, ja, ja, okay please, bitte, it will be the one without the seal.”

“Okay.” She hit her open palm with her fist and then rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go.”

Nott took the lead, darting out from shadow to shadow crossing the street in the wake of a few straggling pedestrians until she reached the alleyway and disappeared beyond Caleb’s view. He followed at a distance, pulling his cup back out to effectively turn himself invisible.

It worked, as always, no one looking twice as he adopted a fake limp to get himself to the other side of the road. He couldn’t see Nott in the shadows. All he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears and the blood rushing through his veins. The chill was setting in deep and his breath curled through the black, smoke rising to an inky-dark sky. For a long time, there was nothing. Or maybe it was a short time. Caleb’s usually impeccable memory felt fractured and jagged, like broken glass in a burnt out house.

Suddenly frantic, Caleb shook his head wildly back and forth, willing away the memories that threatened to choke him. And, in the midst, he heard the commotion.

A hand grasped him by the shoulder. Caleb whirled around. Coins hopped from the tankard and flew through the air, raining down to the ground in every direction. Wide eyed and wild, Caleb looked into the eyes of an angry young man, advancing upon him. Caleb tripped in the dark over an uneven cobblestone and went sprawling backward.

“Thief! Where is it! Where is the report!” Julien kicked him in the side hard and pain set starbursts off behind his eyes.

“I have nothing! I have nothing! I am only a beggar, what do you want? Who are you?” he wailed through genuine tears as he curled in on himself, looking to protect what would surely be a bruised rib.

Julien raised a hand threateningly, fingers splayed in a casting formation. Little more than a cantrip, but enough that it would probably hurt.

“Bitte! Ich hab’ nichts gestolen! I swear it!”

Julien’s eyes were blue, a pale, pale blue, like a spring sky. Half to grey, the only spark there was anger. For a split second, the short, close cropped hair was red and not flaxen and Caleb saw his younger self, standing above a malcontent, ready to kill for the Empire.

Julien paused but did not waver. His leg shot out again and Caleb flinched, but it did not hit him. Instead, a copper rattled over the ground before bouncing off a wall. “Filth. What are you doing in these streets? Get out of here, and down to the lower town where you belong. If I see you up here again, bothering about, it will be worse than the stocks for you. Raus mit dir! Away with you!”

Scrambling to his knees, Caleb made to pick up the coins and the tankard, but caught another kick in the gut for it. “Macht schnell! Now! I said, now!”

Caleb fled.

He flew through the streets, his hood long ago fallen back over the bulk of the new scarf, his hair whipping loose from the leather cord flying free. He didn’t stop until he reached the alley across from Strohners Bäckerei. He squeezed himself into the far corner, hidden best as he was able behind some wooden crates and put his head between his legs, breathing heavily, breath straining in the cold. It felt like his lungs were starting to solidify from the inside out, but the fear spearing through his brain left him incapable of thinking or doing anything but sitting there, shaking.

There was a soft noise from just a few feet away. Caleb flinched.

“Cay? Cay are you alright? It’s me!”

Slowly, Caleb lifted his head. Nott’s glowing yellow eyes floated in the air before him.

“I will live. Did you get it?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.

“I did. It’s well hidden. No one saw me.” _But they saw you_.  Nott didn’t need to say it for Caleb to hear it. “Oh, Caleb! I was so afraid for you!” She put her arms around his head, kissing his temple. “I’m sorry. I didn’t for any of that to happen! He must have felt the draft from the door, or my hand on his pocket. I swiped it just as he left and when I heard him exclaim…I’m so sorry. This never should have happened. I should have been faster, better. I should have, have…shot him!”

“No, you did what was best. If you had shot at him, we would both have been dead, and if by some miracle we survived, we would have been worse off.” He sighed heavily. That avenue of information was now close to him forever. Completely botched. “But tomorrow, they may be looking for us. I need to read it now, so that we drop it somewhere convenient in the morning. I will need to go back to the-“

“No,” said Nott firmly. “Absolutely not. I’ll do it.”

“Nott-“

“I will do it Caleb, and that’s final.”

Tired and aching, Caleb didn’t bother to fight her, especially not when she got into one of her particularly _bemutternd,_ mindsets, coddling him like he was a kit whose eyes had yet to open.

“Okay.”

“Good, now, it’s late and you’re tired and cold. You can read the report in the morning. Let’s curl up and get some sleep.”

That night, Caleb did not sleep well. The dream came to him more vividly than they had in a long, long time. Something about the nearness of the emotions, the heightened terror of the night before and the proximity to Ikithon, high in his tower, looming over the city. When Caleb woke the first time, in the cold stillness of the still darkened early morn, his fingers were blue-black. A deep frost arrived in the night, spiraling and swirling over the carven stone, seeping into skin and down to the aching bone. So cold, that he forgot his bruised ribs. There was nothing but the blank, freeze, the numbness. Even the brief moments that Caleb and Nott shared, huddled around the fire in summoned in his hands, were not enough to banish the bitterness.

It took him hours to fall back to sleep, warm only in the knowledge that everything would be over after that one last brutal winter.

When morning arrived, the streets were barren and empty. No one stirred save the occasional rhythmic beat of the Crownsguard and the shushing of the blissfully infrequent breeze. Caleb had already read the note by the time Nott shifted and sat up beside him, contemplating what he’d learned. “Caleb? Oh my god! Caleb!” She tugged his hand into hers. In the stark light of day, the dark tinge was even worse than it had appeared by the firelight the night before. “Caleb we _have_ to go see Jester. Today”

Tugging them back from her grasp, he hid his hands in his pockets. “Nein. It can wait. There are more important things that we have to do today.” Caleb made to get to his feet, but an aching stab of near forgotten pain reverberated in his ribs and he sagged back. “Verdammt...”

Nott cringed, reaching out to take some of his weight, minimal though it was. “Maybe you should just…stay here?” She let the question fall. “No… maybe I should take you to The Traveller’s Way then?”

He only shook his head. “No, Schatz, I am going to go and scout where we will sleep tomorrow. How long do you think you will take? So that I can tell when I should be worried…?”

“Not too long. I’ll be in and out! Like the slip of a shadow! ” She grinned at him, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I will send Frumpkin with you, and he can watch to see if the proprietor finds it then.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Nott placed her hand on his arm, a look earnestness on her features.

They waited just long enough that the streets weren’t completely deserted for before heading off.  As Nott slipped away, Caleb watched with trepidation the street corners for anyone who might be searching for him, nervous and jumpy and all too obvious. He tried not to clutch his side as he walked, to avoid sticking out, but the throb caught his breath and made him woozy, and he stumbled and swayed through the streets like a drunkard.

It took him far too long to get to the alleyway; only when he was sure he was alone, did Caleb ensconce himself in a burrowed nest of the tarpaulin and his cloaks between two barrels and a wall, one of few that wasn’t still completely decked in frost.

Then came the risk.

Nott was surely to the Cartographer’s by that point, surely was dropping the letter, or almost to the point of it. The minutes ticked off in his head one by one. He had to make the decision quickly, to leave himself vulnerable by blinking into Frumpkin’s vision, blind and deaf and helpless, or not. If he waited too long, he would miss the crucial moment. If the report was never found, then Ikithon would spend days having it searched out. Julien would not have been able to lie to him, probably knew better than to have tried. His severe agitation, the violence with which he had reacted suggested that the young man had undergone much the same experiences as Caleb once had.

Caleb knew better than anyone that _no one_ lied to Herr Ikithon. And trying was as good as resigning oneself to the torture chamber, or worse: Ikithon’s lab.

Anxiously, Caleb scratched at his upper arm. He peeked out around the corner. No one was looking. No one would see him.

Mentally, he calculated the amount of time that had already passed since Nott had likely passed off the report, how much time it would take her to get back…

Caleb blinked.

Frumpkin’s strange vision blossomed with the blue light of their arcane connection, glowing out from behind his eyes. The fae-cat was seated in the rafters, looking down at the man. Caleb directed him to look where Nott had slipped the report. Frumpkin’s gaze landed on a corner of a display table just to the left of the door, stuck between the floorboards.

 _Go to it_ , Caleb urged Furmpkin. _Bring his attention to it._

Frumpkin dropped down from the rafters to the sill, to the table, and then the floor. The Cartographer caught sight of him and moved forwards, mumbling about ‘damned cats’. Just as he went over to scoop Frumpkin up, he paused.

Saw the report.

“Oh, Göttern.” He breathed, forgetting entirely about the cat, freeing the report. “Mena! Mena! Send a message to Julien! The report was here all along!”

Sighing in relief, Caleb instructed Frumpkin to leave the building after batting at something for a bit and then go into the shadows, so he could be snapped back to his master. Caleb blinked out of his familiar’s vision and back into the alley. The bright grey light strained his eyes, but his breathing slowed as his anxiety eased. They would be alright. Julien would be assuaged, Ikithon would hopefully be less suspicious…They were out from the worst of it, but he would still be on alert. They would still have to be careful.

Caleb waited, still in the quiet, filled with trepidation as he waited for Nott to return, counting the minutes off in his head. The wind whistled through the loose roof slates, and indeterminable conversations were carried through, gusts of words and half sentences fell on Caleb’s alert ears.

But still, no Nott.

Frumpkin pinged in the back of his brain. Without hesitation, Caleb snapped him back.

But still, no Nott.

All of the worst permutations on the possibilities cluttered themselves into Caleb’s brain, muting out all rational thought. Every sound made him jump, every twitch of Frumpkin’s tail left him twitching. He was so distracted that he forgot to be alert. Forgot to pay attention.

“Caleb?”

He shot up, knocking his head on one of the two stacked barrels, sending a shock of pain through his side as another ricocheted through his temple. “Scheiβe!” He swore, leaning into the chilled wall. “Nott! You’re safe! I thought you had been caught!”

“Yes, but you’ve hurt yourself! I’m sorry!” she said, crestfallen. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I will be fine. Wait-“ Caleb mentally backtracked. “You were caught?”

“Well,” she shifted back and forth. “Sort of?” Nott settled in beside him as a gust traveled through the alley. “I was seen in the area. People thought I was stealing something…ironic, you know? The one time I’m _not_ actually stealing anything at all, but putting something back! I got away, of course, but I think we should lay low. Just to be safe. They know both of us know, by sight. Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to Traveller’s Way?”

He considered it. He seriously, seriously considered it.

“Nein. We cannot risk being seen today.”

Whether cowed by her experience, or simply tired of asking, Nott gave in, and said no more.

The rest of the day was spent talking together in relative silence. There were a few close calls were they had to duck low and huddle beneath the bundled tarpaulin to avoid being seen. First, the chemist’s assistant carrying out a carton of broken phials, the lingering stench of potions wafting around them, followed by a child chasing a stray ball.

Night came, just as cold as the last. They staved off the edge of their hunger by gnawing on the ends of Nott’s dried meats, and then curled up as physically close to one another as possible, low to the ground to shelter themselves behind the crates and the cloaks, Frumpkin purring by their heads. Caleb tried to make a fire in his hands, but his fingers wouldn’t curl right and he gave up, trying not to see the tears at the corner of Nott’s eyes.

The only reason Caleb came to the next morning, was because his hands were in pain. The sharp bright prickling pain that came from chilled, jelled blood warming up rapidly. Nott was blowing on his fingers, rubbing them back and forth between her hands, building up friction.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, groggy from sleep and chill.

“We can’t go on like this. I refuse.” There was no room for argument in her voice. “I’m wrapping these and then we are going to see Jester Lavorre right away this morning. Don’t try and tell me otherwise, Caleb. You are _hurt_ and we will both _die_ if you can’t make fire.”

Tenderly, she unrolled the bandages from her forearms and rewrapped them around his fingers in a loose bind, holding in as much heat as was possible without cutting off his barely renewed circulation. Caleb watched the wall the whole time, tracing the designs in the thickening layers of ice and snow with his eyes.

“I’ll not have you lose a finger because you’re too damned stubborn to get help.” Nott continued. “Blast the Crownsguard. Jester will let us in. We can stay in a room there and we’ll be safe and fed and she can see to your ribs besides – don’t lie, I know they still ache – and we’ll be warm. We’re going. That’s final.” When she finished, she smoothed out his cloak, pulling it close around his neck and then lifted his hood up before wrapping him in his new scarf.

“We’ll be okay, Caleb?” Won’t we?

“Mmm.” He hummed, putting his arms around her.

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Nott pulled away and took his arm to pull him to standing and together they set off for the Traveller’s Way.

Up on the second tier, Jester’s Inn was situated not terribly far from the wall arch. The hanging sign was hand painted, meticulously so, in vibrant silver and verdant green. It depicted an archway, through which a road passed. Many assumed that it was indicative of its relative location within Rexxentrum, but Caleb knew better.

The pushed through the fading green door and into the dim, flickering firelight and homey warmth of the hearth. The half orc barkeep, whom Caleb could only assume was the Fjord that Jester had told him so much about the last time he was present, was sitting at one of the tables, eating bacon from a plate in his lap. Otherwise, the place was completely empty. Legs crossed and propped on a stool, Fjord looked up, first in general curiosity, but his expression changed as he took in the appearance of his visitors.

“Jessie! Better get out here!” He called out, swinging his legs down and sliding the plate onto the table as he stood. His left arm hung stiffly against his side. “Jess, its Caleb and Nott!” When he reached them, he ducked under Caleb’s arm, pulling it around his neck and helped Caleb to a chair at the table near the fire.

Nott watched the steaming plate of bacon with a sharp eye. Fjord waved her on. “Go, eat it. There’s more where that came from.” Fjord turned back to Caleb. “What in the Nine Hells happened to you?”

“You know who we are?” Caleb watched him warily.

“Sure.” Fjord shrugged with one shoulder. “Jester’s told me all about you. Don’t worry. I’m not, uh, exactly simpatico with the law ‘round here either.”

“You are Fjord, I presume?”

“Yep.”

Caleb eyed his shoulder, curiously. “That is recent, ja?” He asked, gesturing to Fjord’s limp left arm.

Fjord puffed out a breath. “Sure, if you call a year and a half recent. You haven’t been out this way in a while.”

While that wasn’t entirely true, Caleb made no move to correct him; there would be time for those conversations later. Nott had brought over the plate and was sharing out the crisped meat just as Jester burst through the back door.

“Oh my gosh! Caleb! Nott!” Jester flew to their side, her hands pin-wheeling through the air. At the last moment, she changed her trajectory and went to the front door, pulling down the bar to lock it from the inside. “There, now you are safe, oh my goodness, what’s happened? Caleb you look terri-“ She cut herself off, eye widening in shock. “Your hands!” She knelt beside his chair, her flowing sleeves and fluttering skirts floating gently to the ground as she took his hands. Closing her eyes, Jester looked up to the sky. “Traveller! I need to heal my friend, okay? Thanks!” She clasped Caleb’s hands close to her chest, muttering a further prayer. White light splayed from between her fingers. All at once, the pain and numbness ceased.

Jester held his hands out for inspection, pulling at the wraps, and when she was certain that they were restored, she squeezed them once before letting go. “Anything else? Anywhere else?”

“Yes, his ribs. I think they’re cracked.” Nott spoke up. “Not that he’d tell you.”

Nott and Jester both glared daggers at him, but Caleb only scowled. “It is not so bad. I have had worse.”

All the same, Jester repeated the ritual prayer and the throbbing in his side reduced to the barest twinge.

“Danke.” He took a strip of bacon from the plate. It was crisped well, but thick with rich, satisfying fat. “We are in need of a place to stay, if you are able to host us.” He put it down on the plate without taking a bite.

“And we can’t pay you. Sorry,” said Nott, blunt as ever as she hoisted herself up onto a stool.

“Oh, it’s no big deal.” Jester’s eyes were glowing and her cheeks were rosy. Caleb caught sight of Fjord watching her, but, recognizing the expression on his face, quickly looked away. “Do you need like, the super-secret place or will, like, any place do? Because we have a few rooms… Well, more like any rooms. Our last guest left yesterday.”

“Caleb needs to sleep in a comfy bed,” Nott proclaimed. “But first he needs a real meal.”

“Eier, eggs, if you have them.” Caleb said. “And I will pay you, I promise.”

Jester put a hand to his cheek, and pushed back his hood. “No, really, Caleb. You don’t have to. You keep my secrets and I keep yours. That makes us practically family, don’t you think?”

“Okay.”

Jester went into the back to work on getting them all some breakfast and Fjord took a seat across from him. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, surveying Caleb more carefully as he and Nott pulled away layer after layer of chilled, melting cloaks and scarves.

“I could say the same of you,” Caleb replied. “Jester spoke of you very fondly the last time we met. Called you her ‘sailor boy’.”

Fjord’s smile was wry. “Once upon a time. Not anymore.”

“Do you mind my asking?” Caleb queried as he rose from the chair, hanging out his things to dry over other stools and chairbacks.

“Fellow I thought was my friend stuck a real big knife in my shoulder. Severed some tendons and I couldn’t get help quick enough. There was only so much Jester could do, and especially living here?” Fjord bit out a harsh laugh. “You know what it’s like. One whiff of magic, especially non-sanctioned holy healings? Jessie’d be done for. You know s’well as I do that she’s already on thin ice with the Crownsguard, so to speak, and I ain’t ‘bout to get her in any more trouble for something that she might not even be able to fix really. It was a month gone before I made it home. By my estimation, s’probably mostly permanent damage. So I live with it. ‘s alright. I get by just fine, and this way, I’m here to help around the Inn.”

Caleb nodded but noticed out of the corner of his eye that Nott turned a sharp glare on Fjord, her normally wide eyes narrowed. For the moment, Caleb chose to ignore it.

“I am sorry about your friend, but glad that you are here with Jester.”

“Me too.”

They sat in mildly uncomfortable silence, feeling one another out. Nott’s gaze weighed heavily and every so often, Fjord’s eyes would dart over to her, nervously, and then back to the table, where he was picking at a loose wood sliver.

“Are you sleeping with Jester?” Nott blurted out of the blue. “Because if you hurt her, you know I’ll have to kill you.”

Fjord blustered, also falling out of his chair, which he’d rocked back precariously onto two legs. It wiggled and slammed back down hard onto the floorboards.

“Am I- N-“

“Breakfast!” Jester’s jubilant tones resounded through the empty room and all three of them looked back at her like deer caught in a hunter’s sights, wide eyed and stock still. “Uhhhhh, did I miss something?”

Flustered Fjord reached to rub at the back of his head and he stood, blowing air out his mouth. “Nope. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched upwards in amusement. Nott continued to glare.

“O-kay, well, here’s breakfast. I thought we could all eat together. Fjord?” She looked to him expectantly and he back at her attentively.

“On it, Jes.” He took off like a bolt to the back room, apparently to finish breakfast. Jester scrunched her nose up prettily as he left, here eyes lingering for a moment where he disappeared behind the door before turning conspiratorially towards her friends.

“Isn’t it just the best!?” she grinned, exuberant.

“He seems very nice, Jester.” Caleb replied and then tucked in.

Breakfast contained the most conversation either Caleb or Nott had had with other people in most about longer than a year. Jester did most of the talking, unsurprisingly, though Nott did her fair share too. While Caleb was mostly content to listen, albeit with occasional interjections, Fjord joined the conversation wholeheartedly. Several hours later, tired still, weak from the cold and full with breakfast and warm for the first time in months, Caleb and Nott allowed Jester to show them their room while Fjord cleared the dining space and reopened the Inn for business.

Alone, Nott looked at him hard. “They’re definitely sleeping together.”

“Ja. You are right, I think.” Caleb concluded. Nott was constantly surprising him.

“No, I know I am. Well, he better treat her right, or I’ll sink a bolt between his eyes. Now. Into bed with you. Let’s get some much deserved rest. Real rest. On a bed, with a clean mattress and _no wind_.”

Caleb followed her directives happily, allowing her to prattle at him as they settled in, listening to the moan of the wind through the creaking timbers, allowing it to lull him to blissful sleep.

 

Fjord woke him suddenly, his  hand on Caleb’s shoulder, but it quickly released him so Fjord could shush him, finger to his lips. “Wake Nott. We’ve got company. Jester’s occupying them. I gotta get you out of here.”

The spike of adrenaline hit Caleb like it had been stabbed straight into his heart. “Wer? Who is it?”

“Crownsguard. You can’t stay in the city. Now, come on. Let’s go. No time to waste.” With urgent speed, Fjord moved off into the dim darkness, bundling their things.

Caleb sat up, shaking Nott awake.

“Wha-?”

“We have been discovered. Fjord is getting us out, Schatz.”

She wasted no time, scrambling to her feet on the bed. Fjord tossed them their packs. It hit Caleb in the chest, rattling his ribs, but he said nothing.

“Follow me.”

Quietly, they tiptoed out of the room and down the hall, following carefully behind Fjord, who kept a close eye around each corner. When they reached the stairs, he turned and whispered. “When we get down there, I’m going to go into the main room, where Jester’s stalling, make a scene. You slip out to the back store room. There’s a hidey hole beneath it. Leads to the cellar. Be careful. Best make sure they don’t have anyone watching round the back, alright? Be safe. Jester sends her love.”

“Give her our thanks.” Caleb whispered in return. Nott tugged on his coat.

“Come on, Caleb. _Now._ ”

He and Fjord exchanged a nod, safe in their mutual understanding, and then Fjord started down the stairs, clomping more loudly than rightly necessary. Only when they could hear his low rumbling voice ringing hollowly from the front did they sneak down, holding close to the wall and disappear into the back hallway. Nott located the hatch and opened it, ushering Caleb down in front of her.

The cellar dry in that strange way things got when all the water and damp had been sucked out of everything up, up to the surface where it solidified into ice.

“I’ll go first.” Nott’s hushed tones were so quiet, that a soft breeze would have utterly muffled them. Blinded in the pitch black, Caleb snapped Frumpkin to him. “No, Frumpkin will go first.” Visualizing the back alley, Caleb snapped Frumpkin out and around, and blinked into his vision.

The coast was clear.

“We are good. Let’s go.”

Into the night, they stole through the streets with silence on their side. Perhaps it was Jester’s god with them at her request, or perhaps simple luck. Whichever it was, Caleb didn’t dwell overlong. Keeping to the shadows, the road sloped gently down as they passed to the first tier and then down through the streets. Three times they had to stop for the Crownsguard, hearts beating frantically, but they made it through, until they came upon the final arch. The gate to exit the city.

The low cast glow of a torch allowed Caleb enough light to see Frumpkin, to gesture his intent to Nott.

_Distract the guard, please._

Frumpkin dashed up the steps to the ramparts and then darted straight up and over the wall. From their spot around the corner, Caleb heard the guard cry out as something clanged. and then the rapid thumping as he seemed to move off to the north of their location. They exchanged a quick glance and then ran off, out of the city, into the wilderness, into the open, into the night.

It didn’t take long before they were far enough away that the torchlight wouldn’t illuminate them. Both were shivering again, but they were safe, for the time being at least. Until the bridge, but they had time to consider that. The hours of the morning were still small and pitch black, and it would take time for word to reach the guards posted at either bridge of their escape, because they were still being looked for within the city. Precious time, and, Caleb hoped, not to dearly bought. With renewed vigor from much needed care, they turned kept heading Westerly. When morning came they would sneak across with a group.

The only light left them was the moons, full, but frequently covered over with clouds, muting their soft silver shine.  They walked a little while more before making the decision to stop and ‘camp’ which included little more than lying out the tarpaulin and curling themselves together over top of it.

Nott was just a little ways away, scouting for a good spot, Caleb headed in the opposite direction, when the clouds cleared away and the moons light caught on something that sparkled differently from the snow.

Curious more than nervous, Caleb drew closer. The shining thing was attached to something else, something…

Laying sprawled in the snow, half covered in it, was a nude tiefling. Unmoving.

A corpse, surely. A beautiful one, but a corpse just the same. Some poor noble with a fine boned face against which long, snow crystallined lashes lay, his sharp jaw slack and akimbo limbs splayed elegantly in death, tattooed skin dusted over with snow. Mugged or robbed or…

The winking metal that adorned his horns caught Caleb’s eye again. No, something else had happened here.

He knelt next to the body, placing two fingers gently against the chilled flesh above where an artery should have been throbbing.

Caleb waited.

Beneath his fingers, he felt a low, dull beat.


	5. 4.

4.

“Nothing is as tedious as the limping days,

When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways,

And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom,

Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom”

~ Charles Baudelaire, _Paris Spleen_

 

 

 **1** ** st ** **of Cuersaar**

Cloying, suffocating, stifling. Something covered his nose and his mouth, covered his eyes. Frantically, he clawed at it, confused more than frightened. The thing – rough on his hands – slipped a little from its place, dropping down something wet and uncomfortable onto his head. Letting out a small yelp, he shook the wet, uncomfortable stuff from his hair and pushed himself further beneath the covering.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Curious, blinking widely, he snuck his hands up to the edge, only just curling the tips of his fingers over it and pulled it down, just exposing his eyes. He peeked out and up at a great, sparkling black expanse and the two gorgeous silver baubles, one larger, one smaller, hanging hazy high above.

 

Suddenly, a startling noise accompanied by a force that locked up his whole body came from within him. The covering pushed up and out of his hand before coming to settle back over his face.

 

He shook, frightened.

 

“Oh my! Did you sneeze? I knew he’d get sick, Caleb.”

 

He darted back beneath the covering as the voice grew nearer, hiding from it, staring blankly with fear up at the cover that kept him completely from view.

 

“Hello there!”

 

It didn’t _sound_ mean.

 

Slowly, he pulled the covering back down, no further than it had been before. A short green person looked back at him, smiling sharp and toothily, though her eyes were kind.    Without warning, the force pushed out of his mouth again, along with the sound. He flinched, his whole body seizing. Once more the cover floated up over his nose, but came to settle lower on his chin.

 

“My goodness! Well, you’re just adorable, aren’t you? I’m Nott. And who might you be?”

He thought to himself for a minute and then, wordlessly, shrugged. Surely he had a name. But whatever it was, he didn’t know.

“Alright. Well, I can’t really keep calling you ‘naked guy’, but I guess it’ll have to do for now.” Remaining stock still, he watched her warily as she dropped a hand to his cheek, patting it gently. “Don’t you worry. We’re going to take good care of you.”

Something in her manner was soothing. Almost even a bit familiar. No longer afraid, he sat up. The moment he did, however, his eyes opened wide in shock. A high pitched whine escaped his lips and he laid right back down, shaking.

“Ohh, I bet that was cold. Yeah. Here, we’ve got some clothes for you.” The green person, Nott as she called herself, was about to turn away, but he reached out a hand and placed it on her sleeve.

“Cold?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him bemusedly. “Cold. It’s one of the coldest winters ever. Leastwise, that’s what Caleb says. And he knows a lot. He’s very smart, Caleb is.” She knelt beside him as he slowly tried to sit again, shaking more until she pulled the scratchy warm thing around him, nice and tight.

“Caleb?”

“Yes, Caleb. He’s my boy.” She leaned in close. “I take care of him, too,” she said before changing the subject. “Do you know what happened to you? Do you remember anything at all?

He only shrugged in return.

“Uh. Okay. We can talk more about that later. Can you say anything besides ‘cold’ and ‘Caleb’?”

He blinked and thought hard, but his head throbbed. He snuck a hand out of his wrap to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his temple. Everything felt scrambled, misty, as though a cloud were passing in front of the vision of his memory. He shook his head slowly, mindful of the thundering pain.

Nott pursed her lips. “Were you robbed? I mean, I’d think if that were the case, they’d have taken all your lovely jewelry and not just your clothes and everything else, but, I mean…well…were you?”

“No.” The word came naturally to his lips, but he didn’t look at her when he said it, eyes drawn ever upwards to the sky, velvety dark and deadly clear. Alluring. The feel of the wind on his face and a tiny black spot against deep blue rapidly disappearing… “I think…” Speeding, gold flecks siphoning… “I think I fell.”

A skeptical look on her face, Nott’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under her hood. She glanced around at the spot, the open, snowy knoll, not a tree in sight, and choked back a sound. “From what?!” she asked, incredulous. Her arms waved about, inviting him to join her in looking around. Nothing in any direction. Not for miles. “A wagon? The sky!?”

Yes! That was right! Abruptly, he turned his head to her, nodding as a smile bloomed across his features. “Yes! The sky!’ He exclaimed. “I think I fell from the sky!”

The face she made next was one that felt familiar, though not on her features, and it left him more confused than ever. The tender light in her eyes seemed to ache for him. “Oh, boy…you really hit your head pretty hard, didn’t you?” She patted his hand gently. “Let’s have a look at that.”

He allowed her to lean him forward, her sharp fingered nails probing at his head gently. “Hmm. Nothing too bad. A little bit of a bump, but that can be deceiving.” She pulled back. “Well. Let me get you those clothes, hmm?”

“Clothes.”

“Yes, that’s right. I’ll be right back.”

She moved off to the left. His eyes followed her, and, for the first time, he noticed that there was a bright…Fire. A bright fire burning.

“Fire. Fire is bright. Fire is beautiful,” he said meekly, mostly to himself. A tingling sensation filled his chest, something less than physical and more than mental. Tentatively, he lay a hand over his heart, trying to pinpoint the sensation. Just as he felt it spark in his brain, a movement in the distance caught his eye and it was last. A shadow shifted, and just as that shadow was about to resolve into a form, and the form into a person, Nott returned.

“Here you go! Got some nice clothes there for you! They’re Caleb’s of course, but you seem a similar height. They should do, although we might have to make some alterations for that tail.” she said, pushing them at him. “Now, you put those on, but don’t expose yourself to the elements. What with how cold it is, it’s a miracle you didn’t already get frostbite, though, let’s be real, it is pretty hard to tell, you know…because you’re purple.”

He looked down at his hands, wrapped around the bundle of fabric. “Purple.”

“Yep. That’s right. You’re purple, I’m green and Caleb over there is pasty.”

At Nott’s gesture, the shadow stepped forward. By the light of the fire the form coalesced into a man, with hair like flame and cold, sparkling eyes like the moon on the snow. Entranced, he followed the man with his gaze, taking in the precise actions with which he moved, the waved, frizzed mess of his hair, half tied away with a bun, the slim, yet determined set of his shoulders. He dropped the clothes into his lap, leaning forward to see better in the darkness.

“I know you.” He wanted to reach out, to press his fingertips to Caleb’s cheek. “I know your face. Somehow… I-I…”

“You saw it when you woke up as we were moving you. You likely do not remember, as you were only half conscious at the time.”

The voice was…he didn’t know how to quantify the feeling it thrust into his chest. Like something was ready to explode out of it at moment’s notice, like he was soaring and flying and falling all at once, all over again and –

“Your voice sounds like flying feels.”

Both his new companions stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him.

He blinked, feels strangely cornered. For a while, no one spoke, processing. Then, Caleb spoke. “You should put those clothes on, eh…”

“What?”

“What should we call you?”

“Oh.”

Yes, that was right. Nott had said that ‘naked guy’ wouldn’t do. It certainly didn’t sound much like a name. Not compared to Caleb and Nott and…someone else. Someone whose name was at his lips… He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Unbidden, a memory rose to mind, the thrashing dark sea, waves tipped in white caps, along which crested the beautiful birds. Birds he knew, birds that he’d…

All too suddenly, it was gone.

“What are the names of the birds that fly alongside ships?”

“Albatrosse?” Caleb asked.

“No, no there’s another name. Something else.”

“A colloquial name? Perhaps mollymauks?”

He tried it on his tongue. “Mollymauk. Molly. Mauk. Mollymauk. Yes.” He smiled rakishly. “Yes, I like that. That’s my name. Mollymauk. Mister Mollymauk...something. I don’t know. It’ll come to me.”

“Well then, Mister Mollymauk, I am Caleb Widogast. And this is Nott-“

“-the Brave, no comma!”

Molly (He had a name! A good name. Part of a name…) smiled at the exchange, though he wasn’t entirely sure what a comma was. As far as travelling companions went, they didn’t seem too terrible. “Nott.” He turned his gaze on her. “And Caleb.” The man shifted almost uncomfortably under his gaze. “I get the feeling I should be thanking you, even if I’m not quite sure for what.”

They exchanged a look, but Molly couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It was as though they had their own language, one comprised purely of half glances and slight movements. For the time being, Molly put it aside. There was so much to see; even in the strange light of the fire, he felt strangely drawn to the dark beauty of the world around him, so familiar and so alien all at once. Eyes in wide wonderment, he took in what he could see of the landscape that stretched out around him.

“Where are we? Are we near the city?” The stars, the stars and constellations were familiar, but the landscape was strange, oriented wrong. Molly looked to Caleb for answer, but his face was a mask. “Caleb?”

For a moment their eyes met and Caleb held his gaze, and Molly felt something spark again. But Caleb ducked his head and stood, as if making to walk away. “We can answer your questions later. For now, however, you should get dressed before you catch your death of the cold.”

Death.

Cold.

Molly frowned.

Though Caleb moved off, busying himself around the fire, Nott remained, watching him with a sharp eye. “Something wrong, Mollymauk?” she asked.

“Cold,” he repeated. “Is that the word for the biting awfulness when I sat up? And for the…the snow that was in my hair? It was snow in my hair, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

If the perplexed look on Nott’s face was anything to go by, it was an odd question to ask. Molly felt the pounding in his head again, and closed his eyes, pressing them shut tightly as if that might lessen the pressure.

“Hey.” Nott’s small hand landed on his shoulder. “Are you alright? You don’t look so great.”

“Head hurts.”

The world was swirling around behind his eyelids, wild, topsy-turvy. He was plummeting, plummeting, picking up speed. The Cold itched in his lungs, constricted his throat.

 

Black.

 

_“Molly.”_

_“…”_

_“Mollymauk.”_

_“Molly_ mauk.”

“Mollymauk.”

 

The moment his eyes opened, they were so flooded with light that he had to close them again immediately. Blinded and confused, he rolled over to hide and was greeted by a face full of snow. Surprised, Molly launched himself backwards, thrashing under the confines of the rough covering.

“Calm! Calm yourself! It is alright!”

Caleb. That was Caleb’s voice. And Caleb’s hands, reassuring as they moved over his skin, rough spun wool scratching against Molly’s bare shoulders. Caleb. Caleb who…

“That’s it. Calm. Bleib ruhig, sei ruhig. Alles gut. Alles gut.”

Under Caleb’s attentions, Molly soothed and settled despite his shivering. He cracked open one eye and then the other, letting them adjust to the glaring bright light of the white, glistening morning. Over Caleb’s shoulder, the wide expanse of the pristine snowscape spread out before him; sloping and dipping, the rolling hills were hidden beneath the impossibly dazzling snow. Breathless, Molly stilled completely, forgetting the chill.

“It’s beautiful.”

Caleb started to pull away. For a moment, Molly had almost forgotten he was there.

“Wait.” Molly put his hands out, and the cover fell from his shoulders. The chilled air prickled his skin, but Molly ignored it. Caleb stalled, waiting. Up close, Molly could see that his eyes were blue, the same blue as the sky, and his cheeks were bright cherry red. His skin was freckled, but not soft, weathered, though he wasn’t old, and the lines around his eyes weren’t from smiling. His lips… Molly’s eyes fell to the pale pink peeking out from beneath the coarse facial hair. They were dry and cracked, but Molly, inexplicably, felt the urge to reach out and touch them with the pads of his fingers, to trace the shape of them.

“Mollymauk?”

His eyes flickered back up to Caleb’s.

“Is something wrong?”

Rapidly, Molly blinked, shook his head, pulling the wrap tighter around him. “Nothing just…just feels like I’ve done this all before. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Caleb rubbed his beard, thinking. “Perhaps this is related to-“

But Molly didn’t hear a word. Unthinking, he reached out, fingers just grazing the ginger hair on Caleb’s face. “It’s not soft.” Caleb froze at the touch. It didn’t take but a moment for Molly to realize what he’d done, pulling his hand away instantly. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean…”

“It is fine.”

It wasn’t fine. It very obviously wasn’t fine. Molly swallowed hard, uncomfortable without precisely knowing why. He floundered for a moment. “I just…how do you do it? Grow hair there?”

Caleb made a face, perplexed. “I…I do not know? I just do?”

“I can’t. Or, at least, I don’t think I can?” Molly rubbed a hand across his own cheek. “I don’t really know how I know that.” A flash of pain pushed through his head. Hissing, his face crumpled.

Through the pain, Molly felt a hand land on his shoulder. “Breathe. It will pass. Breathe. In and out. Ja, that’s it. Breathe.” Grateful, Molly sank into welcoming arms and their measure of warmth, resting his pounding head on Caleb’s shoulder. Eventually, the pounding ebbed and he could focus and see again, but he didn’t want to move. It was comfortable where he was, away from the brightness, away from the pain.

“You say you do not know who you are, but your memories are there, beneath the surface. Ja?” Caleb’s voice was soft, gentle. “You feel the pain when your memories try to break through?” Molly tried to focus on the feel of Caleb’s hands, the sound of his voice, grounding, comforting. “When you feel it flare, here, in your temple-“ Molly heard Caleb tap his own head. “-think of something else. Something that will distract you, redirect your thoughts.”

There were a few moments where neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. Molly felt the rhythm of Caleb’s breathing and matched it, focusing on it, and the pain receded. Eventually, Caleb withdrew from him.

“Thank you.” Molly smiled, shyly.

“Ah, ja…” Caleb reached a hand to the back of his neck, massaging there. “You, ah, you will be alright now?”

“Yes, I think.”

Coughing slightly, Caleb’s gaze darted away. “You should put those clothes on. It is a clear day, and while the sun is shining, that means that it will only be colder for it the longer the morning gets. I do not want to have saved you, only for you to freeze to death because I did not see to your wellbeing.”

“Why did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Save me?”

A pregnant pause fell between them. “To be honest, I thought you were dead.”

“Yep!” Nott’s exclamation startled Molly from his focus. “Definitely were going to loot you, but you were alive, and, honestly?” She shrugged. “There wasn’t that much to loot. You’ve got a lot of pretty shinys but I didn’t take any of them, just so you know.”

“Oh.” Molly put a hand up to his horns, and felt the cold metal dangling there. “Wow, that’s really cold. Cold.” He said again. “Cold. Isn’t it weird?” Molly giggled a little at the word. “Cold.”

Neither Nott nor Caleb laughed with him, exchanging another one of their secret glances “Just put the clothes on, okay?” Nott pressed, shaking her head. “Cold’s weird. Bah. _You’re_ weird.” She purposefully turned her back to him. “Come on, Caleb. I’ve got some breakfast ready. We’ve got to get moving soon, right?”

“Right.”

They moved off before Molly had a chance to ask why they needed to leave so soon, but he supposed he’d find out anyways. As his eyes finally adjusted to the influx of natural light, so also lessened his headache, apparently not entirely brought on by the ‘bump’ he’d sustained, or the press of memories trapped in his skull.

Looking down and the bundle in his lap, he vaguely remembered the night before, when Nott was trying to cajole him into putting them on. Oddly enough, the process seemed to elude him. There were a few items rolled together. A light cream coloured cloth, mostly rectangle shaped with two tube pieces coming off the sides and two large holes for…

“Oh.”

Molly looked down beneath the wrap at his torso. He turned it round, looking it over, and found that the opening that matched up with his neck had a lacing that could be done and undone. Loosening it, he managed to clamber into it without tearing the fabric on his horns. It wasn’t a thick adornment, and didn’t keep out the wind, but it felt good on his skin by comparison to the itchy covering. It took him a while holding the laces, to figure out exactly the way that they ought to pull together, passing them this way and that over and under before giving up and leaving it half laced, hanging open but pulled a little more tightly.

The outer covering was heavier, much like what Caleb had been wearing, and Molly pulled his arms through it gratefully. The next item proved to be troublesome. “Uhh, a little help here?” He called out. He looked around and saw Caleb’s head cresting just from below the rise he was situated on. Nott had both hands on Caleb’s leg and was pushing him with all her bodily strength in Molly’s direction.

“I’m a _lady_!” She cried indignantly. “You go help!”

Throwing a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, Molly watched as Caleb made his way up the hill.

“You need me?”

Molly held up the article of clothing. “If these go where I think they do, I have a problem.”

Caleb looked between the pants and Molly, making the connection automatically. “Oh. Ja, that would be a problem. Eh..here. Let me see.” He produced a small knife from a hidden pocket within his coat and slit the seat of the pants a little ways. “One moment. Nott!”

“What?”

“Can you spare a button or two from your collection?”

“What? Why?”

“The pants require more buttons to accommodate Mr. Mollymauk’s tail.”

She scurried up the hill. “Oh, give it here. I’ll take care of it.”

As Nott set about working on the pants and Molly watched her curiously, Caleb started pacing. The sun was getting higher and higher by the minute and the strange calm that permeated their earlier interactions dissolved into restlessness. Molly fidgeted, huddling down low in the wrap.

“How is it coming, Nottchen?”

“Half a minute, Caleb.”

The pacing continued. Molly’s tail twitched. The wind was starting to pick up, and Molly cringed against it, feeling something wet begin to bud at the corner of his eyes. The tension was palpable now. He hooked a fang over his lip, and wiped incessantly at his face, but the wet kept coming unless he ducked his face away from the icy bite of the brisk breeze.

Time ticked silently by.

Nott sewed and Caleb paced and Molly waited.

And waited.

“I can’t stand this!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Look, I don’t know either of you, and I’m very, very grateful that you’re helping me and everything, but I would very much like to know what’s wrong that you’re so anxious about everything. And what’s going to happen to me? I don’t know _anything_. I’m not even sure where I am and that feels so wrong. I should know where I am. I always know where I am! And I’m _cold_ and I’m hungry and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do and you-“ He pointed a finger at Caleb. “-Are not helping.”

As soon as the triad was over, Molly deflated, feeling somewhat better, even if he were a little shocked at himself.

Nott watched him with his wide eyes and Caleb simply sat down, apparently chastened.

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“You are frightened and confused and we have not given you any answers. My apologies.” Caleb did not look at him once while he spoke. “You are,” There was a pause and Molly noticed the slight shift, the exchange of glances, the change of facial expression. “welcome to travel with us, should you do desire. But it would perhaps be better for you to go in to Rexxentrum. There is an inn there, The Traveller’s Way, run by another tiefling, like yourself, named Jester Lavorre, who can help you.”

There was something about the way Caleb phrased it that turned Molly off to the idea, though he didn’t rightly know what it was. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked. “I don’t…I’d like to stay with you both. You’ve been very kind and I’m…”

_Afraid. I’m afraid._

“Ja, Mr. Mollymauk?”

“Maybe it’s silly but you’re the only people I know. Or, can remember, at least.”

It was impossible to understand Caleb’s expression. One look at Nott told Molly that she was concerned, but even a long hard stare at Caleb left him just as inscrutable as ever. Whatever was wrong that they weren’t sharing with him, it must have figured largely into Caleb’s temperament, because there was no softness in his expression.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, or what’s happening,” he continued. “And I don’t even know where you’re headed. I just don’t want to be alone. Please.”

He sounded desperate, even to his own ears. The strange, foggy places in his brain were settled casually on the outskirts of his thought, and he wanted to keep them there, but as the prospect of being left out in the empty, white world alone was almost too much. There was just something about Caleb that made Molly want to cling, that made him feel almost protective, despite his own obvious vulnerability.

He squeezed his eyes shut as a thought pierced the veil. “Are your hands okay?” The question came to him completely out of the blue and Caleb’s eyes narrowed.

“Pardon me?”

“Your hands – you don’t have very good coverings and I’m very cold right now, but especially my ears and nose, and my toes and fingers. I just thought…I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry, this is…I must be really inconvenient.”

Just as he finished speaking, the pants hit him smack in the face. “Put them on.” Nott said, voice firm. “Caleb, he has to come with us. He hasn’t got any shoes and we can’t let him walk half the day to the city without shoes. The bridge is closer, and so is the road. We hop on the back of a wagon and st- err, _borrow_ some boots and keep on our way. Once we’re over the bridge, Mister Molly can do as he pleases.”

Molly slipped the pants under the covering, wriggling about to pull them on as comfortably as possible before shuffling to his feet and slipping the newly altered waistband around the base of his tail to fidget with the buttons. It took him a moment to accomplish, but, when he was done, he stood against the early morning wind, mostly covered, waiting for his fate to be decided.

“If you go with us, you will have to keep up. And you will have to let me do the talking, ja?” Caleb waited, as if expecting an answer. Molly nodded, shifting to burrow his feet beneath the covering for a last modicum of warmth. “You cannot remain exposed for too much longer, so we will head for the road once we think of…some alternative footwear.”

There was something going on. Something that they were talking around. Molly knew he wasn’t dumb or oblivious, and was fairly certain that they could tell as much by the suspicious quirk of his lips, but he didn’t say anything.

“And then,” Caleb continued. “We will take you to Nila. Nila will most likely be able to help you. We are not headed for civilization at the moment, and you are not suited to such an environment as we will be passing through. This world is indeed a cold one, for all you seem surprised to hear it, and we are headed in harsh directions.”

No mistake, Molly heard the accusation in Caleb’s words, caged as they were by seeming kindheartedness. “Look, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I was lying out there, I don’t know how I got there or who I am, alright?” He stabbed a finger in Caleb’s direction. “And don’t you pretend that’s not what you were thinking.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak up in his own defense. Instead, Nott cleared her throat. “Last night, you said you thought you fell from the sky. There weren’t any tracks around you in the snow. You were covered in a layer of it, even though it hadn’t snowed since midday. And you weren’t dead. You don’t even have frostbite!” she exclaimed. “We’re allowed to be suspicious, so don’t you dare get on Caleb about it. We need to be safe too! What if you’re dangerous! Where would that leave us? What if there’s people after you?”

“Oh, sure. And what if I’m totally innocent and I set out with you, what is it that you’re not telling me that I should probably know about. You’re nervous!” He took a step forward, forgetting his predicament. The moment his foot touched the snow, it crunched and sank and he yelped, pulling back. “You’re nervous about that bridge, aren’t you? I may not know anything about how I got here or who I am, but if I’m going with you, it’s only fair you tell me what I’m getting into. And if that bridge is going to be a problem, I’d really love to know why.”

Furious, Nott started towards him, but Caleb held out a hand. “The bridge is overseen by Crownsguard and our penchant for _borrowing_ things had not exactly made us desirable individuals.”

Molly only stared back confused. “Crownsguard? And what’s borrowing?”

That comment garnered him a genuine strange of noise from Nott’s mouth. “What’s…Caleb? You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

The weight of Caleb’s gaze left Molly strangely warm. “No, Nott,” he said softly, resignedly. “I do not believe he is.”  

There was a long moment where Molly felt like Caleb might turn him away, but instead, he knelt down by his pack and began to rummage through it. “The Crownsguard are the law in this place. They serve Emperor Dwendal and the Cerberus Assembly.” He said, as he continued to look, though for what, Molly couldn’t imagine. “And they are not friend to us. And we are but a half days walk from the capital city of the Empire. Borrowing is the reason we are not ‘friends’. Borrowing is a euphemism for stealing, and I sincerely hope you know what that means.”

Molly cringed. “Yes, that’s taking something that doesn’t belong to you. That I know. Couldn’t tell you why I know one and not the other.”

Caleb pulled something out of the pack. “Here. These will have to suffice until we get to the road. It will not be pleasant but, it will do.”

The proffered items looked a little like feet were shaped. “Are these ‘boots’?” Molly asked curiously as he took the thick scratchy things.

“Nein they-“

“Wait, back up!” Nott exclaimed. “Do you not know what shoes are? How do you not know what shoes are?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what any of this you threw at me is called!” He plucked at the loose flowing garment. “What’s this? Couldn’t tell you. But these-“ he pulled at the pants leg. “-are pants and I only know that because you said their name.”

Rapidly, Nott shoved her hand in a pocket and pulled out a button. “What’s this? Please tell me you at least know what this is.”

“It’s a button.”

“Oh thank the gods!”

“I know that because Caleb called it a button.”

Apparently at wit’s end, Nott threw her hands up in the air. “He doesn’t know what a button is. _A button!_ _Caleb!_ ”

“We can waste time on this later.” There was no room to broker argument in Caleb’s voice. Firmly, he wrenched the pack up by the straps and gestured to the things – still without a name – in Molly’s hands.  “Please put those on. They belong on your feet. They will stay mostly dry and quite warm, but will not be good for long distances. We will get you some shoes when we hit the road. Boots and shoes are the same thing, but one is taller.”

“Which one is taller?” Molly asked, looking down at where Caleb stood, up to mid-calf in snow.

“Boots. And before you ask, those are called boot liners. Now, please, put them on before you lose a toe.”

Molly did as he asked.

With a little help from a grumbling Nott, Molly found himself with a properly tucked in shirt and a buttoned coat. Caleb didn’t even look around before grabbing their packed and folded things and heading off in a direction he called West, every confident assurance in his step. The going was rough. Molly’s feet were chilled through, though they were not wet, thankfully. The bottoms of Caleb’s spare trousers were soaked through and sometime snow shifted and fell between the pants leg and the boot liners and melted against Molly’s skin uncomfortably. They walked for what felt like forever to Molly; eventually, the occasional trickles of cool water started to pool between his toes.

“How far is the road?” he asked cautiously, not looking forward to the answer.

“Not far. Perhaps a half an hour yet.” Caleb stated. Just as Molly was about to ask, he continued. “We have been walking ten minutes.”

The preemptive answer left Molly with more questions than he’d begun with, but he didn’t say anything, knowing that whatever information he was provided with would inevitably produce a similar outcome. The walking continued in silence and it soon became clear to Molly that what felt like forever had obviously been an exceedingly short space of time. Either that or forever was a lot shorter than something else for which he had no name.

They had just crested a hill when Nott turned to Caleb and started speaking. Molly was uncomfortable from the slug up the hill, warm and cold all at once from the exertion and the unrelenting wind and was about to ask if they could stop for a rest, when suddenly her voice carried just enough for him to hear.

“Caleb. There’s something very strange about Mollymauk.”

“Ja, I know.”

“He seems all harmless, you know, like an adorable baby goat, but baby goats sometimes suck on your braids without warning and when you jolt they knock you in the back with their horns, if you get my drift.”

“Ja, I do.”

“So…?”

“ ‘So’ what?”

“What’re we going to do about him?”

Bristling, Molly snarled at their backs, calling out to them from behind. “I can hear you, you know. I’m not stupid. I have just got a shitty memory!”

Startled, they both stopped and turned, though Nott’s was more of a jump and mid-air twist than anything else.

“You understood what we are saying?” Caleb asked, brow furrowed.

“Yes, why should I not?” He answered in like.

The two looked at one another.

Molly was rapidly growing tired of their shared looks.

“You speak Zemnian.”

That one was a statement and not a question.

Blankly, Molly stared. “What’s ‘Zemnian’?”

Nott dusted off her snow misted coat. “Zemnian is the language you’re speaking right now. And before that, you were speaking Common, and we were speaking Common to you.”

“Well.” Molly considered the new information. Something, like always (though ‘always’ was starting to seem less long than he’d though it was, much like ‘forever’.) was nagging at the back of his mind. Something bright and important and wildly… “I guess it serves you right, trying to talk about me behind my back.”

Nott harrumphed, but seemed to give way to his reasoning and Caleb simply nodded.

“We are not too far from the road now. We can discuss this more then, but we must keep moving. Time is of the essence and I fear we have already wasted too much of it.”

They continued on. When the drifting snow got to be too deep that Nott was sinking into it to half her waist, and could no longer manage to walk, much less lift a leg, Caleb bent down and swooped her into his arms, from where she then clambered onto his shoulders. Molly was shaken, though he tried not to show it, frantically attempting to keep up. It was one thing to wake up without a memory, another to know that he could say and do things without even knowing they were happening. Whatever it was, trapped within his brain, it felt impossibly dire.

He ran through every scenario that came to mind in attempt to distract himself from the discomfort of walking in increasingly soppy boot liners, and the sharp whip of his hair and the many dangling chains as they struck his cheeks when the wind gusted, leaving stinging, violet marks in their wake. For comfort, subconsciously, he coiled his tail about his own thigh, casually rubbing at his knee with the spaded tip.

Without closing his eyes, without pressing too far into the migraine-pain, Molly imagined falling. The sensation set him nauseous, like his stomach was high in his throat and his belly was empty of organs. It felt familiar, the shrill squeal of wind in his ears unforgettable sound. He could recall the punch of impact, his breath as it was pushed from his lungs, misting in the chill air like a cloud.

Anything beyond that was lost to the jarring red blotted pain that filled his vision, obscuring any and all detail that could have been gotten, save one white spot in the red. He reached for it, but it was gone before it could materialize into anything of substance.

Frustrated, Molly dashed a pile of snow with his foot. “It keeps slipping away,” he murmured to himself absently, closing his eyes and shaking his head. His feet took him forward, but something solid stopped him in his tracks. Opening his eyes, Molly found his face in the middle of Nott’s back. “What’s happening?”

Shifting out from behind them to see, Molly was met with the wide expanse of the road, a few people coming and going by foot, and then a wagon here and there. Molly watched on, eyes wide at the display. The people were bundled just as thoroughly as Caleb and Nott and paid the travelers no mind, too focused on the road, on where their feet were going, on hiding their faces from the biting air.

“It’s busy!” he exclaimed, unsure of exactly why he was surprised.

“Ja, the Bromkiln Byway is one of the most travelled trade routes in the Empire.” Caleb scanned the horizon, one hand up to shelter his eyes from the glare. “Let’s go.”

The closer they came to the road, the clearer Molly could make out the people traversing the mostly snow-covered pathway. Up ahead, there was a piled stone marker, a few travelers milling about without actually continuing in any direction. Caleb was headed right for them.

As they neared, he turned to Molly, eyes bright in the winter sun and cheeks flushed with effort. “Let me do the talking, ja? I will get you some boots.”

Molly didn’t argue. Considering the strange way in which Nott and Caleb had already looked at him so many times since they’d found him, it was probably best for someone with more than a rudimentary understanding of what boots happened to be, to be the ones to interact. When they were only a little ways away, and the snow was not piled as heavily, or drifted to the point of excess, Nott clambered down from Caleb’s shoulders and put out a hand to Molly, signaling him to hold back with her while Caleb went the few extra feet to the road.

It was with great interest that Molly watched him barter and bargain. Before long, he swung his pack down, rooting around in it. He was too far away for Molly to make out what he removed from the bag, but he could see someone else handing over a pair of what he could only assume to be boots. They looked enough like what Caleb wore, though the angled cut of the top was different, and there were less brass elements and more lacing.

“Here,” Caleb said, pushing them in Molly’s direction as he slopped through the cart rutted roadway. “Try these. I believe they ought to fit you well.”

Caleb put out an arm in offering and Molly eyed him, confused. “You may steady yourself by resting your hand on me, Mister Mollymauk.”

“Oh.”

Though he didn’t know why, the prospect of touching Caleb was thrilling to him. Gently, Molly lay a hand on Caleb’s shoulder as he bent over to pull a stiffened boot liner from one foot. Just as Nott snatched the wool liner from his hands, she simultaneously thrust a bundle of fabric into his hand.

“Those go on your foot before the boots.”

It took some wrangling, but with Caleb to balance him and Nott’s assistance, Molly managed to pull on both boots over the foot wraps that protected his skin from the smooth leather. They came up to just beneath his knees, sliding over the pants without difficulty, protecting his legs from the deep snow, just as, he assumed, they were meant to.

“Now,” Caleb said, the moment that the laces were pulled taught. “Walk and tell me if they slip, or if they are too tight.”

He sauntered about, adjusting to the slight heel and lack of traction that the thick wool had afforded him, but the boots didn’t pinch or slip.

“Thank you, Mr. Caleb.”

“It was no hardship.”

“But you traded something for it. I saw.” Molly’s words thrust Caleb into a corner, one that was made obvious by the flashing gleam in his eyes.

“Ja, but it is of no concern to you. I have done this of my own volition. Do not be needlessly worried.”  

 _But you’re helping me and I have nothing to offer you. You’re so kind and I just want to help. Why are you even bothering at all?_ The thoughts rushed through Molly’s mind, but not one of them left his mouth, for that much at least, he was thankful. All the same, he gave Caleb a long look that went unanswered.

“Are you set, then?” Caleb asked.

“Yes.”

“Then let us go. And when we get to the bridge, one more, do whatever I tell you, ja? It is imperative that we get across without any difficulty.”                   

The road was disgusting. Cart wheel ruts were full of dirtied, slushy snow and the icy sections made the terrain even more treacherous to cover on foot. Even the few stones that had been pressed into the path to mark it out from the rest of the terrain did little to help make it traversable. Molly tripped several times before a cart came upon them and they were able to flag it down for a ride to the bridge.

Again, Nott held Molly back when Caleb started forward. They were not more than a few feet away, but Nott was huddling even farther into her hood.

“Look as inconspicuous and nonchalant as you can,” she muttered to him. “You’re a tiefling and I’m a goblin and that isn’t going to engender any goodwill, you know, so just play it cool while Caleb does his thing.”

Though Molly couldn’t for the life of him understand what the problem was, he did as she asked, waiting patiently, kicking his new boots against a loose hunk of ice. The conversation was had in low tones; he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the body language at least looked positive. As he made to return to them, he gave the man driving a nod.

“We have a ride across the bridge,” he informed them. “But we must ride in the back.”

It was better than nothing. The man, a clothier named Maerlun, was headed to Yrrosa, which seemed to satisfy Caleb, and sitting in the back was hardly a hardship, especially considering how miserable the walk had been. Molly was simply happy to get off of his aching feet. The boot were comfortable, only in that they fit right. He didn’t like having them on, didn’t like wearing any of the clothes, really. But it was cold and they were gifts and he wasn’t about to complain.

The cart bumped along the road at a fairly sedate pace. Too sedate, if the speed at which Caleb’s leg jiggled up and down was anything to go by. He stared out into the passing landscape emptily. Nott was cuddled into his side, sleeping, so it seemed, though occasionally one glowing yellow eye would flick open, visible from the eternal void that was her hood, narrow gaze landing on Molly never failingly. It didn’t deter Molly from looking to the red-headed man. His mouth was set in a stony line and his eyes, were glassy from the constant barrage of the wind. The cart did little to shelter them in that regard, but it was better than walking by far. Whatever Molly’s life had been like prior to falling and being found by Caleb and Nott, he imagined that it hadn’t involved a lot of travel by foot.  Not a long while into their travel, Molly had taken to watching Caleb. For lack of anything else to do, it certainly provided him with an endless pastime.

Wispy strands of Caleb’s bright hair escaped the confines of his hood, connecting together the constellations of his freckles with fine, reddened lines. No matter how much time he spent looking at Caleb, Molly couldn’t put his finger on why his features seemed so familiar, or why they made him feel warm from the inside when all the world was cold around them. Any time he came close to what he thought might be a breakthrough, the pain in his skull reared back up, forcing him to retreat from the particular train of thought.

There was another, though, that did not lead to pain. One that focused less on why Caleb felt so familiar, and more on how his pale pink lips, chapped and nearly hidden beneath his full facial hair, parted _just so_ as he whispered to himself in a way that still urged Molly to touch them just to know how they felt. He didn’t, of course, recalling the impulsive caress to Caleb’s soft, bristly cheek from the previous night, when the same thoughts had overtaken him.

For all that he was beautiful – and Molly found him beautiful – there was something unapproachable in Caleb’s countenance that seemed to exude a forcefield that kept anything from reaching him. Molly felt almost as though he had done the unforgivable in breaching that gulf, and yet Caleb had invited him to do so several times already. That overture, it seemed, was limited to the moment’s necessity, and Molly wasn’t about to challenge the fragile bond that he had forged so shortly after they’d come to some manner of agreement on what was to be done with him.

But tactility was in his nature and the itch didn’t go away.

Molly coughed, clearing his throat. “So.” It took a moment for Caleb’s glazed look to refocus. “I, um, I was wondering where we’re headed exactly. West, I think?”

“Ja, that’s right. You have a good head for directions.”

Smiling at the subtle lilt of surprise evident in Caleb’s tone, Molly continued. “Something like that, I guess. You mentioned someone named ‘Nila’? Who is she?”

Nott perked up her head. “Nila is a very, very nice firbolg lady with a mate and a little boy. Whenever we’re unable to stay in the city, we visit her.” An unmistakable warmth coloured her voice and a protectiveness that sounded natural on Nott. “She’ll know what to do with you and your memory problem, give us a warm place to stay for a few nights before Caleb and I head back.”

“Back where?”

“Back to Rexxentrum.”

Absently, Molly scratched his head just behind his horn. “But, well, didn’t you just come from Rexxentrum? That’s the name of the capital. You said we were just outside the capital.”

“Ja, we are,” Caleb replied, expression darkening. “But we have to go back sooner rather than later. We just need some of the heat to die down and cannot stay hidden in town long enough without being discovered. It is inevitable, even in a city of Rexxentrum’s size. There are few places there to hide where those who are seeking me would look.”

Just as Molly was about to comment on Caleb’s particular choice of words, the cart jolted and they all reached out to grab the sides to keep from being tossed about. “You? Just you?” he asked, as the cart bumped along a particularly unforgiving stretch of road. “What about Nott?”

“Nott also,” Caleb quickly amended. Molly snuck a glance at the goblin woman, but she showed no signs of uncertainty or consternation. In fact, she looked almost relieved to have been included at all. “We are both being sought. But if we are gone just long enough, they will give up, and if we come back soon enough, they will not be anticipating our return. That is how we have always handled such things in the past and it has yet to have brought us ill luck.”

Lifting his hands to his mouth, Caleb let out a smoky breath and furiously began to rub them together. Molly waited, but Caleb, it seemed, was done speaking, whether or not Molly felt likewise. “So, what, you’re just going to leave me at this Nila’s after you’ve had your little break and then head back?”

“Ja, that is the plan.”

“Well, it’s a shite plan. What if Nila doesn’t want me to stay there?” Molly bit out, watching Caleb cautiously.

“She will want you to stay. She is a very pleasant woman. Very caring.”

Molly bristled at the dismissal in Caleb’s tone.

“Yes, well, what about what I want?”

At that, Caleb actually laughed. Molly felt the sound reverberate uncomfortably in his chest, like a rock dropping in a hollow cavern.

“You do not know us from anyone else in this world. Why would you want to go? Nila’s home is cozy and safe. The road is harsh and unforgiving, and Rexxentrum even moreso, especially for tieflings. You do not belong there,” Caleb scoffed, not even looking at Molly as he said it. “They would eat you alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

Both Caleb and Nott whipped their heads towards him, surprised by the venom on his tongue.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said. “I don’t know anything about me either, but I figure that gives me the right to choose things about myself. You saved me from... well, you saved me, and you gave me boots and your clothes. And I get the feeling that a lot of people would have just left me to die, but you didn’t. So I’m not going to leave you either. It seems like you could use some help, and I don’t know how much I’ll be, but I choose this. I choose to stay with you, until I decide not to anymore. So you don’t just get to assume those things about me. It’s my choice, not yours.”

Caleb sucked in a deep breath, held it and then let it out in a soft stream. “My apologies. I did not think you would wish to. Just as you say most would have left you to die, there are not many people who would choose to ally themselves with the failing fortunes of their unintentional companions.”

“Well this person is.” Molly said, an air of finality settling around him. For as much as the words had surprised Nott and Caleb, he’s surprised himself as well by how vehemently he felt. “I just…I just get the feeling that I should stay. So I’m going to stay. I don’t have a lot I can trust, but I can trust this. I trust you.”

Suddenly ashen faced, Caleb looked away. “That is a poor thing to choose, but I will not begrudge it you.”

The rest of their ride passed on in silence. Molly fidgeted with the hem of the coat, Nott curled back up and Caleb resumed staring at the passing mounds of snow. Eventually, a few flakes started to fall, swirling through the air like tiny dancing fairy lights. It lifted Molly’s spirits, even if Nott scowled and pulled her hood down farther, muttering something about solidified water still being water. Merrily, he stuck out his tongue, catching flakes here and there. More landed on his nose than his tongue, which made sense, but he made the most of it while he was able. As cold as the world was, there was something indescribably beautiful about it; it took Molly’s breath away. The harsh glare of light reflected on snow was mostly dissipated by the soft cloud cover. It was far easier on his eyes and he found himself smiling in spite of the dour conditions and the previous conversation. If this was the world, Molly was glad to be living in it.

Caleb didn’t say a word. A few times, Molly caught the other man watching him intently, though the expression he wore was one that Molly couldn’t describe. Something was weighing on him, a burden that felt like it grew the longer they rode. A distant hum was rising in his hearing, distracting him from thoughts of Caleb. Curious, Molly swiveled, tucking his knees beneath him so he could look off in the direction they were headed.

A great drop in the landscape jaggedly severed the expanse of field. As they drew closer, the hum grew into a gentle roar and he knew that this was the river. And there, in the distance, was the bridge. A few shapes – menlike – shifted about the arching grey stone guides that protected either side of the length of the bridge.

“Caleb! Nott!” he whirled excitedly. “Is that it? Are we here?”

The grim look on Caleb’s face said it all.

“Ja. We are here.”

Molly turned back, watching with great interest as they approached the river. This felt at least somewhat familiar, in the way that he’d felt other things should have, but didn’t. The river flowed down from the lake just to the north, but when he looked out to where he thought it should be, all he could see was more white.

“Where’s the lake?” he asked. “Shouldn’t it be there? Doesn’t this river flow out from it to the south? I don’t see it anywhere.”

Caleb graced him with a wry smile. “Ja, that is correct. You are looking at it, Mister Mollymauk. But it is iced over and covered in snow this close to shore. You would not be able to see open flowing water until farther out.”

That didn’t seem right. “Is it always frozen over in winter? I’ve seen it before, I know I have…” He closed his eyes, savouring the image of a deep, navy blue crest of water, adorned with the cresting whitecaps like winter jewels on the soft velveteen of the night sky. The ice, fractured and broken, refracted a delicate cascade of light, streaming over Molly who danced out on the open water, laughing and preening with delight and…

“Sit down. You will catch their eye if you are not still.” Caleb’s voice was barely a hiss. “Now, pull up your hood and look down. Don’t say a word, just pretend to be sleeping or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Pretend you are ill, if necessary.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can probably do that if necessity calls for it.” For a moment he’d wondered exactly how a dead body would be helpful, before realizing what the other man meant.

But then, just as they reached the first dip in the road before the bridge, Caleb looked up at the sky. “We’re going to have a storm. The Nonagon is at it again.”

_The Nonagon is at it again._

_The Nonagon is at-_

_The Nonagon-_

_The Nonagon-_

_The Non-_

Surging forward with a cry of pain, Molly clutched at his head and sank to the floor of the cart, curling up on himself as he shook. His brain was completely fogged, vision a miasma of black and grey and pinpricks of light. A hand fell on his shoulder. People were talking, their voices garbled and the words unintelligible.

“Please,” he muttered. “Please, please, please.” Over and over he begged for an end to the pain, though none seemed forthcoming. Flashes. Flashes of a face.

_We will make a deal._

The voice rang clearly over all the others. A sparse word filtered through. ‘Healer’ and ‘ill’ and ‘pain’.

_There will be no bargaining. Is that understood?_

_Is that understood…understood…understood…Nonagon…understood…_

Hands grasped his shoulders. Faces… a voice…warmth and brightness…

_Clemency!_

_…offer you. …agree or you decline…_

“Mollymauk!”

“Clemency!”

As the world rematerialized around him, the first thing Molly realized was that Caleb was leaning over him, one hand cupping his cheek, the other on his shoulder, holding him steady. The wet was streaming from his eyes again, though he didn’t know why and his head throbbed.

“Mollymauk. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” he said, voice hoarse.

Caleb let him go with a heavy sigh as Molly sat up, looking around, noticing for the first time that they weren’t on the cart any longer, but rather that he was laid out on the same covering he’d slept in the night before. There was nothing to be seen for miles save the greying white of afternoon snowfall. “Where’s the bridge?”

“We crossed it, Mollymauk. You had your fit right as we did so.” Caleb laughed a bit. “In fact, it was perfect timing. The guards could not wait to be rid of you. But nor could our kindly clothier.” Caleb held out a pouch. Taking it, Molly looked inside. “It is jerky. Eat it. You need to regain your strength. Nott is hunting out dinner. We will take a rest here for the day, but tomorrow we will set out early, and it is a long, hard ways to go.”

Caleb moved off, and, for the first time since meeting him, Molly felt less inclined to gaze at him longingly. Lingering fear and pain clinging to him, Molly could only curl up, coiling his tail around his calf and stare blankly out at the empty wilderness, his own voice, desperately ringing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore comments and questions! Leave one if you like! I'm curious to see where you think this is heading!


	6. 5.

5.

“Like some winter animal the moon licks the salt of your hand,

Yet still your hair foams violet as a lilac tree

From which a small wood-owl calls.”

~ Johannes Bobrowski

 

When Nott returned grumbling, with only a single rabbit, Caleb did not immediately broach the subject of Molly’s breakdown. He waited instead, wary that the tiefling could understand them, regardless of the language they spoke together. As Nott settled in, Caleb watched Molly carefully; he didn’t move. There wasn’t even the light flicking of his tail against his own leg. After a while, Nott nudged him, pulled out her little wire and whispered a message in his head.

 _We should speak in halfling. Maybe he can’t understand that._ _Youcanreplytothismessage._

_Ja, that is a good idea._

Caleb wasn’t perfect at speaking halfling yet by any means. He’d started teaching Nott Zemnian even before he knew that she could speak halfling, and, considering that they spent most of their time in the Zemni region of the Empire, it only made sense for her to focus on learning it before she started to teach him halfling. Often, Caleb had thought about asking her how she’d come about such hoarded knowledge, but he never had. And never, the more he considered it, would.

As always, she was gentle with him in terms of vocabulary, despite the fact that he was quick to learn languages. “What are you thinking?”

“I am thinking that eventually, his memory will come back, but that it will be better for us if we are not with him when it does.” Caleb hedged. “He is memorable. While he caused enough of a distraction in our leaving Rexxentrum, it would not do for us to be seen crossing the bridge with him again.”

Nott looked torn. “He’s helpless, Caleb. But if you think he’s a danger…”

“He is absolutely a danger. We know nothing about him. The circumstances under which we found him are suspicious at best. He is a lavender tiefling, for the sake of the Gods!” He caught himself before his voice could raise any further. “We would do well to be rid of him as soon as we are to Nila’s.”

“If you think so, Caleb, I’ll stand by you, but I can’t help but wonder why you didn’t just make him go to Rexxentrum anyways?” She asked, eyes narrowing.

Caleb exhaled a long suffer sigh. “Do not ask me, I do not know. A moment’s weakness, that is all.”

“Right.”

Nott didn’t push it. They set about dinner in silence. Molly still hadn’t moved, though his breathing had evened into obvious sleep. That was something, at least. He debated for a little while over whether or not to wake him, eventually standing to side of the mysterious Mr. Mollymauk. Soft breaths fell from his slightly parted lips and Caleb was immediately reminded of the night prior, when he thought Molly little more than a pretty corpse. Pretty and dangerous. A voice that sounded like Nott rung out ridiculously in his head. _Pretty dangerous._

Caleb couldn’t help but agree. Resigned, he crouched down and placed a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “Wach auf, Mister Mollymauk.”

He hummed softly as he came out of the light sleep, shifting beneath Caleb’s hand. “M’ster Caleb? W’azzit?”

“Dinner, if you want it.”

“Righ’.” He sat up, the coat sliding off his shoulder, along with the only half laced shirt, exposing his tattooed shoulder. Almost automatically, Caleb reached out, pulling the fabric back up before setting to work on the ties.

Molly simply stared.

“What’re you doing?”

“Lacing your shirt. We just saved you from catching your death, I will not have you freeze now.”

The weight of Molly’s gleaming red eyes was inescapable and uncomfortable, like he was being dissected without a knife. He turned purposefully away, berating himself for his actions. If he wanted to distance himself from the foundling, that was _not_ the way to be going about it. Rather abruptly he stood, trying not to look, lest he catch that unnerving gaze and feel the shame spread hot over his cheeks.

They were on a timetable; it was dangerous, what they were doing. _You cannot afford the potential of causalities to would-be innocents. He will only get in your way. He will only slow you down. There is not time for this. There is not time to be sentimental._

Silently, he walked back to the circle. “Nott is a decent cook. You will like this, I think,” he said when he was seated by the fire he’d conjured earlier.

Molly, looking a little put out and a little less enamored and dazed by the subversive majesty of the deadly weather, joined them.

“I’m sure I will,” he said softly, sitting down across the way from them.

Nott thrust a bowl in Caleb’s direction. “That one’s for Molly.”

Reluctantly, Caleb handed it off. Though subdued, Molly was still watching him; with gentle hands, nails clacking against the wood, he took it. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. Caleb and Nott nodded simultaneously, but Molly waited patiently for someone to say something. When no one did, he cleared his throat a little. “So, Nila. She’ll be able to help with…” he tapped his head briefly, before bringing the bowl of thin broth to his lips.

“That’s the thought.” Nott set her own bowl down. “She’s very nice. She’ll take good care of you.”

“And then I’ll go back with you to R-Rexxentrum?”

The question was leading if Caleb had ever heard one. His gut roiled briefly as he contemplated what to say. Nott took over, sensing his distress. “We’re on a timetable, Molly. Caleb’s got things that need doing sooner rather than later. And if your problem can be solved, if you’re not-“

“A liability.” Caleb could have heard a pin drop for how still and quiet the world became around them in that moment. “What we are doing is dangerous and you will more likely than not be hurt, and things will become difficult for us. So, if you are going to…ah…have a fit again? That would be inconvenient for all of us. I do not think you wish to come quite so close to death again, after how we found you? So, if Nila cannot solve your problem, I think you will find that it is in your best interest to part ways with us, Mr. Mollymauk.”              

The next words out of Molly’s mouth were not the ones that Caleb anticipated.

“You keep saying that,” he said, frustrated. “ ‘Close to death’, ‘Catch your death’. I don’t understand. How? Why?”

He looked so innocent, like a new fawn, expression open and trusting, the very picture of blessed innocence, hair falling in his eyes, lips barely pressed together. Caleb was at a loss. How could he not understand death? Or how could he’d come so close to being frozen petrified perfection, preserved until the first spring thaw and yet not know? How could someone who had no concept of death be expected to understand…

I get death,” Molly clarified, sensing his disbelief. “I just don’t understand how _I_ could have died. I haven’t been hurt at all, have I? I mean, aside from the pain I get when I start to remember things?”

“It’s cold,” Nott deadpanned. “You’ve recognized that, yes? Well, sometimes, if you’re not careful…say, you’re _buck naked!_ in the snow for too long? Then you die. Pure and simple.”

On his perfect, timeless features, Molly’s innocence shattered. His jaw dropped a bit. “You can _die_ from the cold?”

Nott gave him a pitying look. “Yes. Many people do. You know, for an amnesiac, you sure have an interesting selective memory. Everyone knows that the extreme cold is deadly, especially up here.” She took a sip of broth from her bowl. “But you don’t. And I’m mighty curious as to why you’re lacking such a natural instinct.”

All the while she spoke, Caleb watched Molly’s face, his body language; the fear he found there was genuine alarm. It lit in his gem-like eyes, with some passing glint of familiarity, but quickly dissipated as a strike of pain flashed over his features.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. But I do now. Thank you.” He didn’t make a move to keep eating, understandable, considering what he’d just come to realize. A pang of remorse settled low in Caleb’s gut that Mollymauk had to learn such a lesson.

 _But simply be happy that you are the ones to do it,_ he reminded himself. _That he is not coming to this through suffering. This cruelty is a kindness. He will need to survive. You are doing him a favour._

Yet, for all Caleb tried to rationalize it, he felt terrible all the same.

“I am sorry,” he muttered. “But you had to understand.” If possible, the night only grew more maudlin from there. Molly was quiet, Nott grumpy and Caleb couldn’t stem the guilt, his mind running through the same cycle of thoughts until the flames he stared into were hardly embers and the world was asleep around him.

The next morning, Molly behaved as though the previous night hadn’t happened at all. Without complaint at the brightness of the sun, nor the earliness of the hour, he helped them to pack up; even offering to carry Nott’s pack. That earned him a suspicious look and a high pitched, rasping quip about him running off with her things, namely her beloved collections. Miraculously, Molly quipped right back. The new morn was just as frigid as the one prior, a new bright dusting of snow covering the frozen expanse. They crunched and puffed their way through the snow, heading northwards; Caleb was grateful that Nila’s was not far, morbidly so, considering the circumstances through which she had ended up inhabiting the little hut. Though many of her tribe had perished in the attacks from the east, at least her mate and child were safe and well. The distance would easily be covered by nightfall on the third day, if they continued as the crow flew without pause.

At one point, wonderment seemingly restored, Molly forged ahead, calling out. “Just keep me pointed in the right direction!”

Frankly, Caleb was astounded. All the guilt he’d felt the night before was hovering somewhere between amazement and irritation, that Molly could so easily seem to put things behind him. But for as miraculous and alluring as he was, Caleb firmly reminded himself that all of it was little more than a distraction from what really mattered.

Ikithon.

Righteous fury froze Caleb’s shivering bones further as he imagined all of the ways that the man might come to his ruin. All of them began with Caleb’s greatest fear: being recognized. In the moment, he knew he would relish his old master’s expression, how they would appraise one another – there would be no shock on Trent’s face, only calm acceptance that would calcify into cold hatred to accompany a simpering smile.

Everything beyond that was pure conjecture. Would he deny having slaughtered Caleb’s parents as punishment for Caleb’s disobedience? Would he admit to it? Surely, at the very least, he would rationalize it.

_That is the price you pay, my boy. Sentiment cannot be tolerated. It breeds weakness, my boy. And if you are weak, you are useless._

For as much as Caleb hated him, he could never deny that Trent was right. Thus far, it had served him well, and he was prepared to use everything Ikithon had ever taught him if it meant beating him at his own game. So much the better that, in the end, Ikithon would be his own undoing. With such thoughts for company, Caleb hardly felt the cold. Pleasantly numb on his revenge fantasies, Caleb let his feet carry him. Molly leading the way, Nott pulling up the rear, walking in the path they left in their wake. When the sun hit its zenith, almost scarily prompt, molly stopped, turning in his tracks.

“Have you got any food?” Not sidled up next to him. “We should stop for a bit, Cay. Rest up so we can get there by last light. “

Caleb sighed, looking between them. “Very well,” he acquiesced. “Clear a spot in the snow and I will light us a fire for a little while, while we eat.”

It was easier said than done, but within a few minutes, a space was cleared. The same line of meagre trees that had provided them with wood the night before did so again and, by the time he was returned, Nott and Molly were waiting patiently as they slowly chewed the dried meats. Setting the wood as he always did, Caleb pulled the little bundle of kindling from his satchel and stuffed it loosely beneath the cracked wood. With an effortless flicker of his finger, the spark took and ignited, as it always did. Molly jumped.

“How do you do that?” he asked, awed.

“Arcane words and hand movements.” Caleb replied. “I am a wizard, Mister Mollymauk. It is what I do.”

“It’s amazing.”

At first, Caleb didn’t think anything of it. Then he noticed Molly staring. On the few occasions prior, it hadn’t stuck him as curious that Molly should be so enthralled with the flames, but, for the first time, Caleb truly took in the expression, the widening of his eyes, the awe, the rapture. And above all, curiosity.

Molly’s preoccupation burned angrily in Caleb’s chest. “It is just fire. Nothing more.”

The dismissal was clear, even to his own ears, and Molly, hurt, looked away and muttered something under his breath which Caleb very firmly decided not to hear.

Fire could be alluring, and intriguing, but never beautiful. Not anymore. Never again.

Waiting only as long as necessary, Caleb wafted a hand over the flame, muttering a few words and snuffed it into nothingness. The thrill of satisfaction he thought he’d take at the dejected look on Molly’s face when the flames disappeared wasn’t nearly as rewarding as he’s hoped. But Ikithon’s words echoed in the back of his head and Caleb steeled himself once more against the onslaught of sentiment.

The rest of their walk passed in silence, as did the night, and thankfully, with little trouble from the weather. The doldrum of the next day was mitigated only by the fact that the dawn was a bright one. With the sun beating down on them the going was easier than it had been, much of the snow melting in the unending swath of land before them, but by early afternoon, the sun was already lowering in the distance. The wind picked up, whipping their clothing and hair about in their faces, pressing up against them, whisking soft snow flurries back up and into the air to create a white veil over the world. It only grew worse from there. Sudden and without mercy, the storm was upon them. Nott tottered and careened into Caleb’s legs and they stumbled together, headfirst into the remnants of a drift. Fighting against the bluster, Molly staggered after them, grasping at the back of Caleb’s coat. Numb fingers missed the first time but managed a hold the second. With all his strength – which, admittedly, wasn’t a whole lot – Molly tugged Caleb up and off of Nott, who managed to stand despite the continued gusting wind.

They continued on deeper the storm. The last dregs of sunlight were just vanishing from the skyline in a starburst of green gold hues when Caleb pointed to a copse of evergreens. “We are almost there,” he yelled over the continuous whooshing in his ears. Far off in the distance, Caleb could see the softly glowing light from the hut windows, a warm yellow in the cold monochrome of the night world.

The distance was deceptively far. All told, they’d walked barely a mile before they were subsumed by the storm. Icicles were hanging from the wrappings around Nott’s ears and Caleb could hardly feel his legs. Glancing back, he could just make out Mollymauk’s glowing red eyes, occasionally blotted out by the now heavily falling snow.

“Wait, Nott. We must wait for Mollymauk to catch up.”

Caleb barely felt it as Nott used the opportunity to climb up on his back, too busy trying to keep an eye on their companion. The tiefling was swaying, stopping every couple of steps before attempting to continue on; it was pitiful. _Leave him,_ whispered Ikithon. _He won’t make it anyways. He’s weak. He’ll slow you down. Do you want to survive? Or do you want to die for someone you don’t know?_ Breathing heavily, gritting his teeth and bracing himself, Caleb turned around. _He_ will _survive._ Over his shoulder, he called “I am going back for him! He will not make it!”

The howling wind carried away any answer Nott may have provided. If he’d had a clear head, Caleb may have wondered in that moment if Nott had heard him at all. But it didn’t matter. With firm, even steps, Caleb made his way back through the tracks he’d left behind. The darkness was so complete that it was almost impossible to see Molly, but Caleb knew the direction and followed his feet.

Red eyes winked in the night, closer and closer.

Blindly, Caleb reached out a hand. It closed around Molly’s upper arm and he felt the tiefling’s head collide with his sternum. “We are very close now!” he called out, voice swallowed by the gale. “You will make it, Mollymauk! So help me, we will all make it!”

Shifting his weight, Caleb pulled Molly up and together the three made their way towards the dim glitter of candleglow. With Molly tight to his side and Nott’s face hidden away in his scarf, Caleb guided them towards the hut. So close and yet so far he began to doubt himself. Was it there? Was it really there? Frozen to the bone, Caleb only knew he was still walking and not stopped in his tracks because he was maniacally thinking it, over and over and over again. _Step. Take a step. Move forward._

When he braved a look up from his feet, the grove was closer than before. And closer meant that it wasn’t all in his head. It meant heat and food and a place to lay without worrying that they might not survive the night.

That didn’t stop it from feeling like hours before they arrived. It was almost more difficult to weave through the trees, icy roots threatening to trip them at every turn. Once or twice, Caleb nearly lost his balance. Careening, weight off center with Nott of his back, Caleb just about faceplanted before he felt Molly’s hands and…tail?...grasp him and pull him upright again, leaning up against a tree. So close, Caleb was able to make out the expression of sheer determination on Molly’s miserable face and he nodded in solidarity.

With more than a little effort they stumbled the rest of the way through the wall of trees to the little hut hidden within. The way they heaved to against the side of the hut belayed the need for a knock. Though the wind was far less treacherous behind the shelter of the little woods, it was no less bitter and unforgiving.

A wave of warmth melted through the frigid air and together they toppled through the doorway and into the hut at last. Caleb found himself face first in a swath of deep plum coloured hair. For a moment, he just lay there; Nott scrambled off his back, the cold wind finally ceased, and his legs started to prickle as they slowly warmed. The body beneath him groaned.

“G’roff.”

Caleb wasted no time in doing so. He didn’t linger frivolously on the scent of oleander and sandalwood that filled his nose, or how Molly’s weak muscles trembled beneath him.

None of that mattered.

Behind him, Caleb heard the door slam shut and a bar being placed over it to hold. As he sat up, Nila’s soft, sweet, worried face leaned into view. “Caleb! And Nott! I am glad you made it here, or I fear that you would not have made it through the night. Come. I’ll get you warmed up. And your friend. Here.” She pulled her hand from her pocket, nodding earnestly. “Have a few goodberries, each of you. I will get you some blankets.”

Nott didn’t say anything, simply making a shivering beeline for the fire and proceeding to curl up there on the floor.

“Danke,” Caleb managed as he shakily stood, taking two from her and placing them carefully in his mouth. Beneath him, Molly pushed himself up and then rolled, lying flat on his back in the space before the door, eyes closed. Snowflakes still clung to his eyelashes and his cheeks were dark palatinate with windburn. Before he realized what he was doing, Caleb reached down a hand. “Mister Mollmauk. Let me help you up, ja?”

Soundlessly, Molly nodded, still not opening his eyes, but raised a trembling hand. Caleb grasped him about the wrist, felt the sluggish beat of his cold-slowed pulse, and pulled. Once more, they were chest to chest. The intimacy of their proximity didn’t bother Caleb, just like he wasn’t allured by the scent of far off spring that Molly seemed to carry with his person. They shared a look, the quality of which held more weight than Caleb was comfortable admitting. They’d survived the sudden onset storm together, and that was something that mattered.

Nila didn’t speak much, but neither did anyone else. She went about, draping warm woolen blankets over their shoulders, woven in patterns that mingled dizzily before Caleb’s tired eyes. He pulled the edges close around him, settling himself down beside Nott, over whose form Nila had draped a different blanket. Molly sat to the other side of the room, his back up against a small, simple table.

For a while, there was nothing beyond the crackling of the wood and the snap popping of embers against the muted whistle of the wind through the hut’s timbers. Then, Nila opened the door, kettle in hand. The gust of wind that battered at the door swept into the room with a vengeance. Instinctively, Caleb curled away, but it didn’t last long.

“I am going to make some tea now. Then you will all be warm inside.”

Caleb stared at the edge of the blanket, held tightly between his fingers. The fraying fibers blurred as he lost focus, thinking, staring.

A few days absent from Rexxentrum would be enough. They would return; perhaps he would find some way to change his hair. Were it anything other than the winter, he may have considered shearing it all off, but the beard and his shaggy mane were more integral to keeping warm than anything else. They would return, and they would get back on track and then he would be poised and ready and waiting for Ikithon and justice would be swift and sweet.

“- for you, Caleb?” Nila was saying. He tumbled out of his thoughts abruptly to notice the small earthen mug she was holding out to him. “Tea, for you, Caleb?”

Wordlessly, he accepted it from her. The umber liquid rippled and steamed, burning his fingers. At least, he assumed so, considering that all he felt of his fingers was a dull throb. The first sip, when he finally drew in the willpower to lift it to his lips, scalded his tongue. Nott shifted beside him as she took her own cup, blowing on it daintily.

Across the room, Nila was speaking quietly to Mollymauk, who also accepted a mug from her. Whatever they were saying was lost to Caleb, not that he deemed it worthy to care.

He’d been _so_ close and once more, he was too far away. And he had no one to blame but himself. Finding the tiefling was a distraction he could no longer afford. In the safety of the hut, Caleb found his thoughts turning to Jester and Fjord, unknowing if they had escaped censure by the Crownsguard for stalling while he and Nott escaped. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten to ask Fjord if Jester might consent to sending them an all clear; but it was far too late to be thinking about the retrospect. There was only forward for Caleb. Only the future and the goals and designs that came with it.

Transferring the cup to one hand, Caleb snapped and Frumpkin poofed back into existence. The fae-cat coiled his way around Caleb’s outstretched leg, rubbing and nosing at the fabric of his pants possessively. The small comfort settle the driven rush of tunnel vision that was taking over Caleb’s mind and helped him to focus, quantifying the matter down to a few points.

_Return to Rexxentrum._

_Be discreet._

_Find opening._

_Act._

The information he’d read in the fateful report floated in his mind tantalizingly. There had been no mention of them, not even in passing. The only thing, if it could even be counted as such, was the tally of those who had crossed over the bridge for the day, but there was nothing special of note. A single anxious thread did quaver in his stomach as he considered what was recorded on the day they left with Molly, but there was nothing to be done about it, so he put it out of his mind to contend with later.

But it was the rest of the information with bore boding on.

With ease he visualized the page, the Watchmaster’s neat script jagged across the sheaf like a shelf of rocks on a cliffside. While there had been many things written in the report, only one thing stood out as useful, though, how much would be altered after the incident he couldn’t be sure, especially considering just how paranoid he knew the Assembly members to be.

_After speaking with the proprietor, it has been determined that the hall can be cleared for the event and that the extra contingent of guards requested for the Archmages’ seating area will be given special access at an earlier, yet to be determined date, at least a week prior to the aforementioned engagement. All the individual specifications from member to member of the Assembly will be met. Additionally, the Captain of the selected detachment of soldiers to be present and processed through the city has made contact and implied that they will be present by the first of that month, barring any unforeseen circumstances._

Embertide.

Caleb had managed to grin to himself that morning, but everything had moved so fast from that point forward that he’d never really had time to ruminate on it before. It was the second of Cuersaar, Caleb was certain, which meant that they had thirty two days until one of the few holidays of which the Empire was fond.

More of a military holiday than an actual celebration of the Platinum Dragon, Embertide was the cause for all sorts of official ruckus. If he breathed deep enough, and closed his eyes, Caleb could almost recall the way that the incense smelled in the shuttered temple, how the sun shone through the stained glass windows sparkling onto the floor. How the massive double doors swung open and the whole detachment of soldiers marched in. How he and Astrid and Eodwulf had calmly made their way to their respective spots as part of the procession, their white ceremonial robes dyed in varying hues by the filtered light. The regimented order of the display invoked the impression of impenetrable, illustrious military might that Ikithon was always so desirous of the public to see.

 _Remember, my boy_ , he’d said to Caleb more than once. _It is about perception. It does not matter the true state of the world, only how the populi generalis view it. They see that we honour the soldiers who gave their lives to protect them. And, when they see this, my boy -_ he swept his arms out wide – _then they will know why the Empire is strong. And more importantly, they will never doubt that it is so. And then, Caleb, only then, you will have achieved true peace within a people._

Of all the lessons that Ikithon ever bestowed upon him, none were so valuable as that one. Fate had seen to it that it would be Caleb, Ikithon’s chosen favourite who ended up his enemy, knowledgeable in the man’s ways – his fawning nature and pride were his hubris and that hubris would be his downfall, by way of one of Caleb’s own spells, if Caleb were to have things his way.

Embertide was Ikithon’s pet project. He was the one who organized the proceedings, who determined which regiment was to be called in from the ever skirmishing Xhorhaasian front, who selected where certain people would sit and in relation to which portion of the Temple. Nothing was done without careful consideration. If one knew exactly where to look, it was easy enough to identify who was in the Assembly’s favour (or, more precisely, Ikithon’s) and who was out from year to year. Caleb and the other Red Hands used to run an illicit betting pool, though it was more for practice than for fun. Being able to read the interpersonal climate of the political arena was practically required.

Carefully, he folded up the imaginary report and filed it away in his mind for later, absently, he sipped at the rapidly cooling tea and let his eyes wander the shadow-dancing walls of the room. Nila was sitting quietly beside Mollymauk. He couldn’t tell if they were still talking or not, but the tiefling looked almost as exhausted as Caleb felt. Lightly, Nott snored beside him and Caleb rested his free hand on her back, rubbing gently and soothingly. Her rest was more than deserved. His own was sure to be fraught with unpleasant things, and he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

With a month to prepare, Caleb certainly had enough time to do everything that he needed, but returning to Rexxentrum was still foremost on his mind. Preparations for the Embertide celebration were sure to be continually changing, for the sake of security, and would allow him a read on how the climate had changed since the summer when he’d left for Icehaven. Some opportunity would inevitably present itself. And when it did, Caleb would be ready. And nothing was going to get in his way. Not even the mysterious lavender tiefling staring at him from across the room.

* * *

The moment they were settled in the hut, Molly’s companions ignored him. Despite the fact that they’d only known one another roughly the length of two days, it stung, if only a little bit. He tried to remember that, when he was struggling in the snow, Caleb had come back for him, but all the same, he couldn’t help feeling hurt. They’d shared a look of accomplishment, of survival, but that seemed to be the extent of Caleb’s regard.

Nila, on the other hand, was perfectly lovely. Her soft, dark hair fell over a broad brown nose and framed her warm brown eyes. Even when she wasn’t smiling, Molly could see a kindness there that filled every inch of her nearly seven foot tall figure. A gentle giant, and generous hostess. After having provided each of them with blankets and beverages, she came and sat beside him, patiently waiting while he blew on the steaming liquid and took a sip.

“It’s hot!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Right? Hot? That’s the right word, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that is correct.” She smiled at him. “What is your name?”

“Molly. Mollymauk.”

“That is a lovely name.”

“Thank you. I chose it two days ago.” Carefully, he watched her face, waiting to see how she’d respond, but she only smiled. “I don’t remember anything before then. Not really, at least. Sometimes my head hurts if I think about it too hard.” He paused, redirected. “Caleb has two names, but Nott doesn’t seem to. Do you?”

“No. I am just Nila.” She reached out a hand and patted his arm gently. “But that doesn’t mean that you can’t have two names, if you like.”

Molly looked into the cup, curiously delighted by the subtle flavours. “What’s this called?”

“Tea. Do you like it?”

He nodded, small slow movements as his body tingled back to life, warmth creeping into his limbs. “It’s very good. I’m not sure how it makes me feel. I can’t describe it, really.”

“It is made by steeping tea leaves in hot water. Steeping means ‘to let sit submerged’.”

“Tealeaf?”

“Yes.”

“I like that. Can that be my name? Mollymauk Tealeaf?”

“It is a fitting name,” Nila said, smiling gently. “Caleb is good to have taken you in.”

Molly recognized a leading question when he heard one, but yet there was no pressure behind her words. Not that Molly felt uncomfortable speaking with her at all. Gentle doe eyes batted slowly and her large figure huddled warm in the small space as she settled beside him.

“I’m grateful.” Molly wrapped his hands around the mug, allowing the heat to seep into his palms, tapping his fingers against the clay contemplatively. “I don't think Caleb likes me much, though.”

Nila nodded. “Caleb is a quiet man, but I think he is very nice. I like him.” After a comfortable silence, she continued. “I do not think he dislikes you, but I think he is very determined. And sad. I think he worries about many things.”

“Do you know him well?”

“No.” Emotions plain on his face, Molly turned to her quizzically, but Nila's features were little more than a pleasant mask. “I do not need to.”

“I can be helpful.” Molly gazed into the subtle ripples in the tea. “I don't know why, but I feel like if he leaves me behind, I won't exist anymore. I don't know him. I don't know me. I don't know _anything_ , but I feel that here.” Molly touched his hand to his chest. “I don't understand it. I woke up yesterday with no memory, but when I look at Caleb...is that silly?”

“No. I do not think so.” Her forehead wrinkled inwards. “The heart is two things, Molly, that are very contradictory. The mind cannot make sense of it. Foolish and wise all at once. There is a reason for why you feel the way you do. You will understand someday, I think. It will come to you.”

Molly hummed. “I don't imagine it'll come any time soon. My head aches every time something seems familiar.”

“I do not really know what to say.” Nila shifted a little, her bulk settling closer to Molly. It felt reassuring. Reminiscent of some other person in some other life. And he must have had another life… Uncaring that they'd met mere moments before, Molly leaned into her shoulder.

“You're a very sweet person. Thank you, thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry.”

One large hand patted the side of his head softly. “You do not have to apologize. Everyone needs comfort.”

“And You're very comfortable.” Shifting his head, Molly nuzzled into her shoulder. “I don't even really want to know who I was.” He continued after a moment. “I just want to understand why, when I look at Caleb, my chest feels so tight. What is it? Is it because he saved me? Because he's the first thing I can remember?” Caleb's stormy blue eyes flashed in his mind's eye. Heavily, Molly sighed. “I don't even know what to call it.”

“Then don't name it. Just explore it. Allow yourself to feel it, and then, I believe, you may be able to make sense of it.”

“Right now?” Molly said, dejected. “ I'm not sure I can make sense of anything.”

The rhythmic stroking of Nila's hand through his hair in practiced motions calmed his thoughts and breath, and the evened the untempered beating of his heart. She had definitely done such things before; years of experience in providing comfort were contained in her every minute movement, and the particular way she cradled him made him feel safe and warm.

“Then perhaps you must get your memories back.”

As Molly sat up, pulling away slightly, he brought the cup to his lips. The thought chafed. He was himself! He shouldn't _need_ anyone else's memories. And yet, the voice in his head chided, ‘himself’ was a pretty thin concept at the moment.

Molly's gaze flitted to Caleb. Shadow and light played on his face like the fluttering of butterfly wings in the fireglow. He appeared lost deep in thought.

“I want to help him. I don't want to be useless. But why can't I help him the way I am? I don't even know why it matters to me, but I feel like, even though I don't remember anything, I'm not lost. Should I be lost? Should I feel like I don't know what I'm doing? I don't... nothing makes sense.”

Caleb's hair gleamed copper in the golden light. Molly’s eyes wandered the landscape of his silhouette, shoulders rounded inwards as he hunched towards the fire.

“Maybe it is because…”

Nila was still speaking, but Molly wasn't hearing her anymore. The needling pain in his head sparked and flared at the temple, his vision distorting. Splotches of black and flares of white burst behind his eyelids as he squeezed them shut tightly.

The blossoming pain cascaded, crested, and the floor fell out from under Molly, falling, falling-

 

  _...grant you the_ _clemency...made mortal…_

_memory…_

_memory…_

_memory…_

_mortal...if you die...mortal state...cease...you will...cease...mortal...you will…die… first of...spring...mortal...stripped of... memory...Caleb and his fire...taken…_

_mortal…_

_mortal…_

_mortal…_

_until you die…_

 

White knuckled, frightened and in pain, Molly squeezed the mug impossibly tight. It shattered spectacularly, tea spilling everywhere, shocking him completely. He shoved back, despite the fact that there was nowhere to go, the crude edge of the table jamming across his shoulder blades.

“S-sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't-”

“It is alright, Molly.” Nila was already on her feet with a rag, sopping up the tea. “You did not mean to.”

In the corner, Nott sat up from beneath her blanket, alert ears twitching beside Caleb who was sat up stock straight, wide eyed and staring in Molly's direction. Shamed and unsettled, Molly turned his face away, fragments words and the haunting voice that spoke them echoing in his mind well into the night.

The morning came.

When Molly cracked open his eyes, the soft light of dawn was muted through the window, the pane stacked three quarters high with grey shadowed snow.

Cramped from laying curled on the floor, Molly stretched as he sat up, the blanket slipping down over his shoulder. The room was quiet. Only embers remained of the fire. Nott was curled where she had lain the night before, but Caleb was leaned back against the wall, looking up at the window absently. A slice of light cut across his face, leaving the rest in shadow.

Molly felt a shudder run through his chest, and he sucked in a quick breath. The quilt rustled when he moved, but Caleb, lost in thought, didn't seem to notice.

Recollections of the night before flooded his mind, Nila's advice ringing in his ears, and the strains of the falling dream, the velvet voice that whispered in his memory, like a snake hissing in his ear, the shattering of clay and the rippling crackle of the fire… He didn’t want to know what it meant. Didn’t want to confront the implications. Only one thing managed to push its way to the fore.

Caleb’s name had been in the memory.

Even though he didn't like it, Nila was right. His memories needed to come back.  

The next time Molly woke, he hadn’t even realized that he’d fallen asleep again. The light was brighter, but not golden, like the sun. Just grey-white emanating from the snow spackled pane. Caleb, Nott and Nila were sitting at the little table, sipping more tea and tearing off small pieces of some sort of food, which they dipped into the mugs before eating.

Their voices were low, but Molly could make out some brief words about Rexxentrum. When he stood, though, Caleb ceased speaking, turning instead to Molly.

“Guten Morgen, Mister Mollymauk.”

“Good morning, Mister Caleb. Nott. Nila.” Molly acknowledged each of them as he stood, pulling the blanket around his shoulders like some dramatic patterned cape. “The storm’s passed.”

No one made to answer. The observation was an obvious one, but Molly felt like an outsider, walking into a conversation in which he had no part. At least, Caleb certainly seemed to think so. And what Caleb thought, Nott seemed ever to support. Nila only beamed at him.

“Come, Molly, and have some tea and bread.”

Nila got up to bring him breakfast as he sat; Nott kept her gaze averted, though her short legs swung nervously, kicking back and forth between the legs of the chair, wafts of breeze billowing the loose fabric of the pant cuffs at Molly’s ankles. Caleb was engrossed in his bread. The gentle clink of a mug and plate stirred him from his ruminations, and he finally made eye contact with Molly, though his gaze darted away and behind, as he watched Nila return to the table.

“There.” She said, setting the meagre fare in front of him. “It is not much, but it is warm. And maybe you would also like a few of these?” From within her pocket, Nila withdrew several berries, which she places on the plate beside the bread. “You must eat to regain your strength for the journey ahead.”

Molly wrinkled his nose as he tore off a hunk of bread, dipping it cautiously in the tea. “Journey? What journey? Aren’t we staying here?” He asked, momentarily panicking over the thought of having to leave the shelter of the little hut so soon, and returning to the cold, harsh world outside. “I thought-“

Just at that moment, the patter of little feet resounded through the room, originating from behind him. Molly turned. A little firbolg child, Nila’s (for he was her miniature), stood wrapped tightly in the most colourful blanket of them all, thin and shivering in stockinged feet.

“Mama?”

“Come here, Asar, and have some tea and bread.”

Molly’s heart sank as he looked at his own food, swallowing dryly, and then to Nila, who offered her son the largest portion from her own plate. Behind her, on the little counter, Molly could see that only crumbs were left. Face flushed, Molly looked to Caleb for guidance; there was a warning on his face. Very deliberately, he tore off another hunk of bread and dunked it in the tea. Molly did the only thing he could and followed suit. The little boy looked sad, and though Molly was curious, he didn’t ask. The look on his face must have been all too obvious, because, after glancing in Molly’s direction, Caleb snapped his fingers and suddenly, much to Molly’s shocked surprise, there was a cat on Asar’s lap, rubbing and nuzzling him. The little firbolg boy giggled, nuzzling back. Heart warm, Molly couldn’t help but smile, and neither could Nila, who was looking at Caleb with the sweetest, saddest brown eyes Molly had ever seen. Which, admittedly, wasn’t many.

Caleb readjusted himself in his seat, as though that would make him comfortable with their soft looks, and cleared his throat, addressing Molly, though he did not look at him further.

“We were just discussing the plans for our return to Rexxentrum. It will be very important for us that we do not let our business get too drawn out. I am on a deadline, ja? And there are things which must be done to prepare for the future in the now.”

Mostly, Molly stopped listening the moment he heard Caleb say ‘our’, a smile spreading across his lips in pleasant surprise. It was nice to be included, to feel useful. Worthy.

“We will likely leave in a short while.”

“Well,” Molly said, searching for something to say through his new burst of unexpected happiness. “I hadn’t anticipated that we’d leave quite this soon, but I suppose you really know what’s best-“

“Ah, you misunderstand, Mister Mollymauk. It is Nott and myself who will be returning to the City. Not you.”

Molly’s eyes shut tight, and his teeth grit, clacking together. “I thought I made it clear that what I wanted was to-“

“It does not matter in this moment what you wanted, or what you thought had been decided. You are a liability I simply cannot afford.”

Caleb stood, the groaning scrape of the old wooden chair pushing back over the floorboards deafening in the awkward silence, and walked away, to a corner where he removed one of his beloved books and sat facing the wall. A moment later, after looking uneasily between the faces of those seated with her around the table, Nott slipped off her seat and joined Caleb on the floor.

Nila leaned over, reaching around Asar, who was still in her lap, and laid a large hand over Molly’s. He hadn’t even noticed it was shaking. “I know a healer. A hermit priest, named Caduceus Clay. He may be able to help you with your memory.”

_And then, maybe you won’t be a liability._

Even Molly’s own thoughts betrayed him.

“A hermit priest?”

Blinking, Nila considered her words. “Once, he was a hermit, but his home was overrun and now he is nomadic. But I know where he was last seen, and I do not believe he has strayed too far from that place. He is also a firbolg, and very kind. He will help you. I am sure of it.”

“Thank you, Nila. I won’t forget your kindness.”

The benign smile she gave by way of return was coloured by sorrow. “I hope someday to be repaid by seeing you smile.”

Molly watched as Asar nibbled on the bread, and his heart hurt with a different sort of ache than before, marveling at her generosity and selflessness. “I hope that someday, I’ll be able to do more for you than that.”

They finished their bread in silence, the morning wearing drearily on until the grey light was streaked through with gold and Molly had convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, Caleb might still change his mind and take Molly with them to Rexxentrum anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave questions and comments! You guys brighten my day tenfold and I love to talk about what you think.


	7. 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from another short break. Grading was hell but this week is Spring Break! And, as such, the winter season is coming end. Though this story grows more difficult to write without that disgusting white stuff for inspiration, I promise I will finish it.

6.

 “The heart can get really cold if all you've known is winter.”

~ Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster

 

“The wastes of snow on the hill were ghostly in the moonlight. The stars were piercingly bright.”

~ Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy and Tacy Go Downtown

 

When they left, they left together, with instructions that the nomadic priest was likely wandering in the woods not too far off the path which Caleb also intended to travel. Nila watching them, eyes alight with an almost curious look as they set off together, the three surely making for a strange sight as they trudged their way through the freshly piled snow. Molly watched Caleb carefully as he forged their path. It wasn’t as if Caleb could _make_ him do anything anyways.

The memories that filtered through during his fits weren’t enjoyable anyways. Ominous was the only word Molly could put them to. The reminder that he’d heard Caleb’s name in the dream worried him. What little he knew of Caleb told Molly that there was something dangerous in his past – and in his plans for the future, but he didn’t seem to know Molly. Molly’s mind raced through the possibilities, heedless of the still bitter cold. The haunting woman’s voice chilled him more than the weather ever could. What if he’d been sent to kill Caleb by one of Caleb’s unknown enemies? Or had Molly been meant to spy on him? Whatever the connection was, Molly was starting to get the impression that remembering was the _last_ thing he wanted to do.

Nor had he forgotten the warning that came with it – _mortal until you die_.

That too was more than he cared to dwell on.

Instead, Molly turned to the equally frustrating but certainly more desirable train of thought. Caleb and his contradictory ways.

“It’s not me,” Molly whispered to himself as he walked, watching wisps of dry, dusty snow swirl and dance over the frosted and iced lower layers. “It’s whatever he’s got going on. He’s just nervous, or scared. And yeah, maybe I’m a bit of a liability, but I don’t have to be. I can be helpful. He’s just reluctant because of whatever he’s got going on. He doesn’t dislike me, he’s just driven. Like Nila said. I can be helpful.”

_How?_

Mockingly, the voice resounding in his head matched that of his dream.

“I’ll find a way.” The low growl of his voice was loud enough that time for Nott’s ears to twitch and she threw him a skeptical look over her shoulder.

“What’s up with you anyways?” She asked accusingly. “Having fits everywhere.” There was no fire in the second statement, and perhaps a little more sympathy than the small goblin woman intended there to be.

Molly smiled, sure that the sharp gleam of his teeth had caught the light as the sun attempted once more to break through the pervasive cloud cover. “Oh you know, just your typical terrible amnesiatic portents of doom and gloom.”

“Is that so, purple-boy?”

“Not at all.” Wickedly, he widened the smile further, lips pealing over his fangs deliciously, hoping to distract her. A little truth, a little lie…for some reason it seemed like the thing to do.

“Right.” Nott replied, and grinned right back as deviously as she was able, her smile a hideous crescent of jaggedly sharp, yellowing teeth, the natural complement to the large lantern eyes that glowed out from beneath her hood, save the dark, void-slit of her pupils. “We’ll see about that.”

It wasn’t all in jest. Though there was an air of levity between them – a peace offering on Nott’s part, who was obviously fiercely devoted to Caleb, and more than a little distrustful of things she didn’t understand – Molly could tell that, for all she had mothered him, especially at the beginning, she was genuinely wary of his dream-states.

Caleb, he wasn’t so sure.

The other man pointedly ignored him during the walk, keeping even a ways ahead of Nott, whom he generally stayed near to, or even carried (a show which Molly found impossibly endearing). Caleb was a mess of contradictions, and Molly found himself more and more enamoured with each one. How gentle he was with Nott, but how reserved he made himself seem, the way he’d treated Molly after he first woke, springing the cat from thin air for Asar, and yet, he pushed back hard against Molly at every turn. It didn’t make sense, but Molly didn’t care.

And neither did he care for the memories. He didn’t need his memories. He _didn’t._ He could be useful. He could adjust. He would find a way to stop them from coming through the fractures in his mind, and then Caleb would see that he wasn’t a liability. That he needed…

Molly stopped short.

There was nothing – not one thing – for which Caleb _needed_ Molly.

“Oi! Purple-boy! You coming or what?”

Nott’s call shocked Molly back to his senses. They were ahead by just a little ways and Molly had to do a strange combination of running and hopping to catch back up, Nott snorting a laugh at his antics.

“Sorry, got lost in my thoughts.”

“Ja, well,” Caleb threw over his shoulder. “If you get lost again, you might be lost for good. I am not stopping for you again.”

Molly, worked up by the trajectory his brain had taken, nervously considered that Caleb might actually be telling the truth.

“I won’t fall behind,” he pledged seriously. “I won’t.”

Caleb’s only response was to keep walking on.

Recognizing that he wasn’t liable to get anything more out of Caleb, Molly turned to Nott with the question that had been nagging at him since the morning.

“Why’d we leave Nila’s so fast, anyway? I thought Caleb was hoping to stay there for a while, let things cool down. Actually,” Molly’s forehead creased as he recalled the words. “Didn’t Caleb suggest that I should stay with Nila? That she’d want me to stay?”

Nott gave a sour look. “Nila’s mate, Kitor, is gone. He and a few others from their clan left to go hunting and aren’t back yet.”

Even Molly could read between the lines, and wisely chose not to speak, only nodding instead as he thought of the little firbolg boy that Caleb had delighted in the only way he could. With his magic. The man’s kindness led Molly’s heart to ache. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No problem.”

The length of time that they walked was impossible for Molly to keep track of, save for by the height of the sun in the sky. By the time it had reached just a ways past its zenith, shortly after they’d eaten, Caleb stopped within sight of a grove a trees, a fair distance to the North, and turned to Molly.

“Here is where we leave you, based upon the instructions that Nila provided us with. The firbolg you seek is likely encamped in that wood.”

Molly sagged in place, closing his eyes tightly for a minute, preparing himself for the argument that was to follow, when he heard the soft whisper of fabric on fabric. Opening his eyes, he saw that Caleb was shucking his coat.

“Here. I will take the one that you have, and you may take this one. It is weatherproof and it will serve you well in the elements.”

Caleb held out the coat, but Molly only stared, gaze flitting between the hand outstretched in offering and the man to whom it belonged.

“I can’t take your coat.”

“Ja, you can and you will. Take it.” Caleb pushed the coat towards him. “Take it.”

Molly made no move to do so.

A frustrated noise fell from Caleb’s lips and he threw the coat over his own arm, took the two steps necessary to bring them face to face and started to remove the one Molly wore himself. “Take. My. Coat.”

“No.” Molly stepped backwards. “You’re very kind, Caleb, but please, keep your coat. I’m coming with you. You can’t stop me.”

“Du… du… Göttern verdammst du, du Trotzkopf!”

Caleb was almost as red as his hair, but the curses that fell from his lips were uttered deceptively soft. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, Caleb’s piercing blues into Molly’s gem reds, his pursed lips twitching. Molly didn’t give him an inch. It didn’t last. Glowering, Caleb swore once more and then whirled away, throwing his coat back on as he stalked off, quick as the snow allowed.

Nott did not move for a long time. Even as Caleb grew farther and farther away, the stormy hunch of his shoulders silhouetted by the bright sun, Nott remained where she was, surveying Molly carefully.

Looking very purposefully down on her from his greater height, Molly raised a brow. “Do you have a problem?”

“No,” she said after a while, sounding almost amused. “No, you and I don’t have a problem.” And then she started off after Caleb, hopping from footprint to footprint of compacted snow.

Without any further hindrance of objection, Molly followed with his own, self-satisfied smile.

The weather was kind to them that night. The sky was clear, which meant that a deadly cold was settling in, but the wind had died down so considerably that loose tendrils of Molly’s hair barely tickled his cheek as he walked. Craning his head upwards, he could read their location by the stars, beautiful and glittering like gems on a velvet tapestry.

Frowning, he considered their position.

“Are we going back the way we came?” He asked when they stopped to camp. It was the first words spoken between them since that afternoon.

Nott shrugged, pushing and kicking at the snow in a circle to make herself a little sheltered hole in which to curl up, apparently. Quizzically, Molly watched her for a moment before, asking again. “Caleb, are we going back the way we came? I thought you said that you didn’t want to be seen on that bridge again.”

“We don’t have a choice. But once we are over it, we will avoid entering Rexxentrum for at least a little while. And,” Caleb added after a moment. “, we will have to disguise you as best as we are able, or, at least until after we are across the bridge.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the Purple-boy.” Nott said. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

Molly shot Nott a look. “I know I’m purple. You don’t have to keep saying it. Are there not other purple people around?”

Imperiously, she stuck her nose up a bit, almost pouting. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“Ja, ja, there are other purple people, but they are not common, and tieflings are already rare in these parts, Mister Mollymauk. And since you will not be deterred in tagging along with us,” Caleb glared at him again. “Then I will disguise you as best as I am able.”

“I _like_ being purple,” Molly said, wrinkling his nose as he looked down at his fingers, which only just peeked out from the sleeves of Caleb’s coat.

“Ja, but the Crownsguard will not.”

“Then they have poor taste.” Fluidly, Molly waved a hand out in front of him. “I’m a _charm_.”

At that, Nott snorted. “You’re like, four days old. How do you know if you’re a charm?”

“Trust me,” Molly said, a gleam in his eye as he looked at Caleb, thinking back to their earlier argument. To the look on Caleb’s face when he conceded. “I know.”

Caleb smirked, but there was little humour in the look. “You are not a charm, you are a terror.”

“Mister Caleb!” Molly put the back of hand to his forehead in mock dismay. “How could you?”

“Easily.”

“Wait.” Molly’s brain suddenly processed everything he’d been told, whizzing backwards through the conversation. “How are you going to disguise me?”

“With magic.”

“You can do that?”

Molly thought of the beautiful spark of fire on Caleb’s fingertips, the tender press of his lips through the arcane words that brought that magic to life, and felt a warm tingle at the tips of his ears as he imagined Caleb using that power on him.

“If you did, what would you make me look like?” he asked.

“A not purple tiefling, mostly likely. That would be the simplest route to take. The less magic that I use, the safer we will be.”

Noting Caleb’s demeanor, Molly shook his head distressed. “But why? It’s so beautiful!”

The outburst stopped Caleb in his tracks. Nott, surprisingly, nodded her agreement. “It is beautiful, Caleb. Don’t let their ridiculous rules get to you. You’re powerful! And you’re smart. Smarter than they are by far. You’ve use magic under their noses for ages! I believe in you!”

“It is not about that, Nott, and while Molly does not know that, you do.” Caleb sighed heavily as he kicked through the snow to create his own place to shiver through the night. “Arcane learning is reserved for the upper classes. And I-“ he gestured to himself. “-am not upper class. If anyone is caught using it, they would be thrown in prison, if not executed for the transgression. It is a serious crime in Rexxentrum especially. The highest only next to treason.”

“But why?” Molly recognized the whine in his own voice, but it was Caleb’s disgusted tone that stayed with him. “I don’t want you to be executed! I don’t want-“

“I will not be executed, Mister Mollymauk,” Caleb reassured him, but, now that the thought was stuck in his head, Molly couldn’t let it go.

“-you to get hurt because of me! I didn’t understand! I didn’t understand, Caleb, I’m sorry! I thought that you didn’t want me with you because…” Molly trailed away, suddenly aware that both Nott and Caleb were watching him so closely. “I didn’t understand,” he finished, quietly, ashamedly. “But I still want to come with you. Is this really all because I’m purple? Will you really _die_ because I’m purple?”

“Nein.” Caleb put a hand placating on Molly’s shoulder, who shivered for reasons not entirely related to the cold. “Nein, Molly, I will not die because you are purple.”

“Then, _why_?”

Exasperated, resigned, Caleb sighed. “Let us finish this so that we can all huddle together and then I will explain things to you, since you are so set on staying with us, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come, Nott, we will all stay together this night, since we are out in the open. We will share as much body heat as possible.”

Caleb put out his hand, muttered and arcane world and lit his hand in stunning, flickering flame which melted a hole slowly in the ice covered snow until there was a space in which they could lay down the tarpaulin that Caleb kept in his pack, sit down and huddle together. Nott clambered in first, and then Molly, who winced which his tail slapped unintentionally down on the still frozen edge of the hole. Caleb stepped in last. There was a little bit of a shuffle as they settled, trying to figure out how they wanted to settle. Eventually, Caleb and Molly lay curled to face one another, Nott settled cozily between them. Caleb snapped his fingers and Molly saw the sudden padding of the magic cat that Caleb had summoned previously, as it settled on top of Nott like a blanket to keep her especially warm. She hummed a little to herself and then, a little too quickly, fell into easy, even breaths.

For a while, there was silence. Molly was almost loathe to break it, the first comfortable one that he and Caleb had shared since they had met. Since Caleb had found him.

Saved him.

But Caleb had promised to tell him, and it would have to happen eventually.

“Your cat is beautiful.” Molly said softly. “I like its spots.”

“Danke schön.”

“Is it real?”

“Ah…ja…”

“What’s its name?”

“He is called Frumpkin.”

Molly shifted. The warm puffs of Caleb’s breath drifted over his cheek, they were so close. In the deep of night, he could still see the grey gradient of Caleb’s hair smooth against the lighter skin of his forehead, the brightest portion of his eyes gleaming between blinks of pale lashes and, that close, even an attractive, though faint, speckle of pigment over his nose and cheeks.

“What’re they called?”

“What are what called?”

He reached a tentative finger up, sweeping it in a ghosting touch over the stardusting of spots.

“Those.”

Caleb’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“They are called Sommersprossen. Summer sprouts. In common, that is freckles, I think.”

“Sommersprossen.”

“Ja.”

“I like them.”

Another silence.

Deliberately, Nott sighed and snuggled closer between them.

“You stand out.”

For a minute, Molly wondered if Caleb knew that his face was plain for Molly to see. His expression was drawn, exhausted, and his eyes looked dull, lacked the sparking glow that Molly’d grown used to in such a short amount of time. Molly ached to comfort him in some way, though he didn’t know why or even how. Helplessness made his eyes burn and he clenched his jaw tightly.

“I said before that purple tieflings are uncommon. I meant it. And Rexxentrum especially is unkind to those who look different, who _are_ different. There is a war on. It has been ongoing for many years now, and you most certainly invite the wrong kind of attention. Although, even if it were the right sort, attention is the last thing that I am looking for right now. You are memorable. Especially after your fit on the bridge. I do not say this to be mean, I say this because it is true. Were I that guard, on the bridge, I would never forget that a purple tiefling had a strange fit as he crossed my bridge. That is the sort of thing that stands out in the middle of another terribly monotonous day of watching the carts go to and fro. I need to fly under the radar. I was…Nott and I were already escaping a bad situation in Rexxentrum before we found you. At first, I thought having a third person would help to distract from the two of us, but I think you did too good of a job.”

Before Molly could get a word in edgewise, Caleb continued speaking. “I know it was not something you could control and I do not blame you for that. Nor,” he admitted, “do I blame you for wanting to stay with Nott and I, especially in your situation. But I said what did with reason. I am…I am wanted very badly by some people with very great power. Staying under their radar is my priority, and to be caught using magic would do far worse to me than get me killed. It would expose me and I am sure that, ah, certain people would collect me before I could be executed for such a crime. So you do not have to worry on that front, at least.”

Eyes shining, Molly had to bite his lip to keep from blurting something out immediately, instead, running through the words before he uttered them. “But I do have to worry.”

“You choose to be with me? You will spend much time worrying about your own safety.”

“Can I ask-“

“I would prefer you didn’t. Maybe, it will be relevant someday, but for now it is not.”

“Okay.” Molly said, voice small. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

“You did not know.”

Molly could hear the rest of the words, even if Caleb didn’t say them. _But I still wish you would leave._

“Get some sleep, Mr. Mollymauk.”

“Tealeaf,” Molly added. “Mollymauk Tealeaf. That’s my name now.”

A curious look crossed Caleb’s face; even if Molly pretended not to notice, he wasn’t sure it would have mattered.

“That is good,” he stated firmly after a moment. “I am glad of it. Everyone should have a name that belongs to them.”

“Thank you.”

The stilted awkwardness of their interactions was absent in that one thing, Caleb speaking as if he really understood. Molly pillowed his head on his folded hands, finding himself even closer to Caleb in the process. With no other alternative than to stare the man in the face, unless he wanted to close his eyes, Molly began to map the features that still seemed already so familiar, as if he had traced them day in and day out for ages, as if they were printed onto his retinas.

How could such a thing come to be if Caleb genuinely did not know him? The woman’s voice was so real, and her words so resonant. They would not leave Molly alone.

“Caleb,” Molly asked, and noticed only then that the other man had closed his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“Caleb, if I…”hesitating, Molly stumbled over the words, causing Caleb to focus in on him intently. “If I was a bad person before this, what would you do?”

To Molly’s surprise, he only shrugged, his shoulders rolling gently, before settling back into the comfort of his coat. “It does not matter who you were,” he muttered in an off-hand manner. “You are not that person anymore.”

Molly fidgeted with the frayed edge of his – Caleb’s – coat sleeve. “What if I was someone who worked for the people who were trying to get you?”

“You are not. It is highly unlikely that-“

“But what if I was?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

But it did matter, at least to Molly, who was growing ever more nervous about exactly how it was that he knew of Caleb, nervous about the woman whose chilling voice threatened him in visions he didn’t understand. Visions he didn’t _want_ to understand.

“Something wrong?”

He must have shifted funny, because Caleb was alert once more.

“Why are you suddenly so concerned about this?”

“My memories. I don’t _want_ them. They’re not…I’m not that person.”

He couldn’t be. If he was, the ominous warning would mean things that Molly – so fresh to the world already – was unwilling to consider.

“You don’t have to be. That is your choice. And you have chosen to be Mollymauk Tealeaf. And that is all that should matter.”

Ever grateful that Caleb didn’t press him for information (he wasn’t sure how well he’d do, attempting to hold out against any line of questioning against Caleb, with his starbright eyes), Molly tore his gaze away, instead contemplating the sky. It was one of the few things that made him feel completely at home, that felt more familiar even that Nila’s warm embrace. As long as the sky was clear, he would be able to find his way, make a path in a world that seemed both alien and recognizable all at once. Tracing a pathway through the winking light of the stars, Molly’s breathing settled to match the rhythm of Caleb beside him. He didn’t know how much time passed before Nott fell into a real sleep, light whistling snores punctuating the eerily silent world. Dug deep into the snow as they were, not even a gentle gust touched them. Caleb fell asleep next, his fingers curling and twitching occasionally as he muttered gibberish fragments in Zemnian. All the while, Molly lay awake, eyes traveling the sky, a yearning in his heart that he didn’t understand. A cloud passed overhead. And then another and another until the moons both were blanketed from sight. Still, Molly stared. He would have stared until dawn broke across the horizon, but for Caleb, who rolled onto his side, head nudging into the crook of Molly’s shoulder, soft puffs of his warm breath on Molly’s exposed neck. And, when one of his restless hands gripped Molly’s coat, a stray finger somehow finding its cold touch on Molly’s warm chest, Molly left his contemplation. He too rolled over, and, leaving behind any rational thought, put an arm around Caleb, pulling him closer as he shut his eyes to the night. With his nose buried in Caleb’s hair, the shared warmth billowed between them, a lone bastion against the still, cold world that swallowed them in its silence as they slept.

 

_“You’re so cozy, Yash.”_

_“You’re not. Your horns poke.”_

_“I’m sorry. I can move, but I’m comfy, Yasha.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I want to stay with you forever.”_

_“Then come back. Come back to me. Come home, Lu-“_

“Wach auf!”

Molly jostled from the dream, grasping it at futilely, squeezing his eyes shut, reaching out with mental arms as the woman who was fading faster and faster from his mind's eye, her words already lost to the morning.

“Wach auf, Mister Mollymauk. We get moving while the weather is still good.”

Caleb’s soft tones did little to garner good will with Molly, who stretched out, catlike, and cracked open one eye. Caleb was sitting, Nott next to him, both eating bits of dried meat, Caleb feeding a few pieces here and there to the fae cat curled in his lap, purring rather loudly.

“I was dreaming.” Molly groused. “Now it’s gone.”

“I am sorry, but I have already let you sleep as long as we can allow ourselves. It is time we were off.”

Blinking blearily, Molly propped himself up on one arm. A memory from the night before, Caleb rolling into Molly’s embrace, flashed before him for a moment, and he snuck a peek at Caleb who was coddling the cat, petting prettily at his velvety ears. Nott, however, was watching Molly, eyes narrowed. That seemed for the most part to be her default setting, but Molly had the uncanny notion that she had been the first to wake, the first to note their sleeping arrangement. Cheeks heating, Molly finally sat, drawing the collar of his coat in tight.

“Can I have something to eat before we’re off?”

“Ja.”

The meal was a quick one. Molly spent half of it trying to recall the face and the words of the woman in his dream. He was certain it wasn’t the same one from the memories of before. She sounded different, like a soft rain might over an empty field, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance of her gentle tones. The other half of the time, Molly sent quick, daring glances at Caleb, trying to figure out what he was thinking, what was going on in his mind. Both avenues came to a dead end. By the time he was done eating, and the sun was completely visible above the horizon, the woman was nothing more than the fading of the smaller moon as the sky lightened, while Caleb’s impassive face remained a closed door on whatever storming emotions were locked away tightly within his heart. And Molly felt for certain that he would never be offered that key. It didn’t seem like Caleb was angry with him for invading his space; it had, after all, been Caleb who reached for Molly first, inviting him to touch back, just as he had before. But this was different, and Molly knew it. There was no fooling himself. The closeness and warmth that Caleb sought in his sleep was subconscious, not intentional, but Molly had already betrayed his heart for hoping. Hoping that the man, as beautiful as the fire he wrought from his hands, would ever reach out for comfort from Mollymauk.

But the damage was already done. Even after they pulled themselves out of the little den they’d carved for themselves and packed up the tarpaulin, Molly could hardly be bothered to notice how the world sparkled in the sunlight, hoarfrost covering the last layer of snow. Far off, in the distance, the barren branches of a few, sparse deciduous trees shone like spindles of glass and diamond, spun from the touch of some empyrean spirit as it flitted about the landscape, invisible to all the mortal world.

For all the winter’s harsh and delicate beauty, Molly saw only Caleb.

When the wind took Caleb’s hood, tossing his vibrant tresses against the backdrop of the cool, blue sky, dancing like a living flame, Molly’s heart thrummed wildly, painfully, and when Caleb turned back to check on his companions’ progress, his cheeks and lips a thrilling pink, Molly remembered the night before, remembered how he’d touched the dusting of freckles that dotted across Caleb’s nose and a flutter grew in his stomach that defied any reasonable explanation.

While Caleb continued to forge ahead, Nott stopped to wait for Molly, who was clutching his abdomen.

“Got a side cramp?”

“No. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Well,” the goblin woman asked, “what’s it feel like. Pain?”

“No, and yes. It’s like…it’s like I swallowed a whole flock of tiny birds. Or dragonflies.” He gestured to his stomach. “And they want to get out.”

Nott breathed in heavily. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” She looked Molly up and down and then started off, keeping pace with him as best as she could. “You have any idea why?”

Molly swallowed, following her surprisingly brisk pace. “I don’t know.”

“Right. Sure.” She shook her head, the wraps around her ears loosening, flapping in the wind. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

Perplexed, Molly threw his hands up in the air. “What else am I supposed to tell myself? I’m five whole days old, Nott! I know some things and others I don’t.” He was only half lying, as the feeling seemed to jump into his throat, his heart skipping a beat every time he looked at Caleb. Molly heard Nott snicker, but when he glanced down at her, she seemed perfectly serious. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, indignant.

“Maybe a little bit.” She snatched a glance and caught his unimpressed stare. “Okay yes, I am.”

“Why? What’s so funny? I’m in _pain_ here!”

“When do you feel it?”

It was Molly’s turn to narrow his eyes. “That’s for me to know.”

“What happened to you being in pain?” Nott asked, a cackling laugh coming on the tail of her words. “Guess it’s not that bad then, eh?”

Molly grumbled, speeding up to pass her, tousling the hood hooked over her ears so that long, lank strands of her hair fell in her face as his palm pushed off of her forehead and he propelled himself through the snow before her.

“You’re acting like a child!” She called out. Even without looking, Molly could tell that her lips had warped into a fanged scowl, but he ignored her, and ignored the discomfort that ebbed and prodded at his heart, following in Caleb’s footsteps as they came to a cresting hill.

The day wore on with a little less talk. They walked through lunch, the sun shining cold above their heads, winding down the steep hill and into an even deeper valley, completely barren of even the reminder that life once existed on the snowcapped plane. Midafternoon gave way to an early evening; the dark came earlier each day. By what Caleb called “four o’clock”, twilight was already pressing down upon them, but there was a long way still to go.

Cloud cover was pervasive that evening, and though Molly saw without too much difficulty in the darkness, it was still growing more and more difficult to see where they were going. The soft conversation that Nott had kicked up with Caleb gave way to the attention they were each spending on finding their way across the treacherous terrain when Molly heard a curious chittering in the dark. Cocking his head, he stopped to listen. Just then, the cloud obscuring the light of the larger moon, shifted, revealing the shimmering glare of an ethereal creature as it undulated through the air, headed right in their direction.

“Nott! Caleb! Look out!” he called, picking up his speed to get closer to his companions.

Small as she was, even in the snow, Nott quickly spotted the creature as it sped towards them, snaking its way along wafts of wind. She pulled a little crossbow from somewhere in her cloak and fired twice. The first one when wide and skittered off into the snow aimlessly, but the second one caught the strange creature, though it almost seemed to pass through instead of hit. All the same, it made a terrible squealing noise and Molly had to cover his ears as it wheeled it’s way towards him in pained anger.

The snow was deep, and even as he tried to duck to take cover, its icy crystal maw came down on his arm as he tried to protect his face. The freezing fangs sank into his flesh, stopping the blood before it could even begin to flow. He cried out in pain as it released him, tearing flesh and leaving a lingering chill to seep through to his core.

Fruitlessly, he clawed at it, trying to beat it back, but it was evasive, slippery in the air as an eel. Something popped. Warm blood seeped from his cheek and the chittering thing reeled backwards, writhing in the air as dark liquid dripped blindingly from the places where Molly imagined its eyes might have been.

A streaking bolt of light flew through the sky.

Caleb. It was Caleb. Molly nearly wept with relief. The flaming rocket of energy soared just above the creature, missing it, but a second one slammed directly into its side, followed by a third which only missed because the creature convulsed as the crackling arcane fire seared across its body.

Almost in the next instant, a two more crossbow bolts flew by, one passing through the thing entirely, and the other hitting hard. A strange, icy white light dripped from it’s wounds, and Molly took a moment to catch his breath, steeling himself against the bitter sting of the wound.

In retaliation, the creature bit out at Nott, who screeched at it got her.

Fortified by anger, but lacking a weapon, Molly hissed, his infernal tongue laced with venom. _“What even are you? A sky snake? Get away from my friend!”_

The creature didn’t seem to care.

“In your coat, Molly! In your coat! A dagger!” Caleb’s voice was almost lost in the wind, but Molly heard it, and fumbling for a minute, drew the rudimentary thing from the hidden interior pocket. Even as the invasive chill bit into his bones further, leaving him wincing with pain, Molly rushed forward and stabbed the dagger into its torso, pulling back and quickly away. It was a good thing, too, because three more fiery lines streaked across the night, connecting in quick succession with the creature. The flames spread across it’s translucent body, almost melting through parts of it, leaving a sheen of pearlescent ash on the ground. The squealing shriek it made sliced through the air like a scimitar, Molly’s ears ringing with the fierceness of it.

“Get a load of this, you dumb icicle!” Nott rasped as her crossbow _thwunked_ the bolt shooting forward with amazing speed, embedding itself right straight through the creatures soft palate. It shivered, twitched and then fell, unmoving, to the ground, still bleeding out shimmering viscous.

With a sigh of sheer relief, Molly toppled to the ground as the intense, arcane cold faded away finally. Grimacing, he peeled back the sleeve of his coat, and the ruined shirt underneath. Jagged wounds marred his skin, and a terrible bruise like colouration surrounded the wound.

“Nott! Mollymauk! Are you alright?” Caleb called, almost tripping over himself to get to them.

“’m fine, Cay,” Nott groused. “It was just a little bite and I’m only a little cold.”

“Mollymauk?!” There was a level of anxiousness to Caleb’s tone that somehow soothed Molly more than any manner of healing he could imagine.

Caleb cared.

“Mollymauk, you are hurt.” Warm hands, rough with callouses tenderly cradled his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “Let me see your arm.”

Thickly, Molly swallowed through the pain as Caleb prodded it. “We must get somewhere safer. And we must all stay close to one another when we are walking, so that no one person makes a greater target. The Ice Wraith, it believed you a straggler. We must be wary that there are no more lurking near here tonight. Nott?” Caleb threw a hand out in her direction. “Do you have bandages which are clean? I must bind this before we leave. I am less concerned about the lacerations as I am about the frostbite. You will not lose your arm on my watch, Mister Mollymauk. This I swear to you.”

As soon as the wound was bound, Caleb moved round to his other arm and hoisted Molly up, throwing his good arm over Caleb’s shoulders, and putting another secure around his waist. “Come on. Let’s go.”

It was with great difficulty that they reached the bottom on the valley. The wind was howling, but not too far off a copse of trees offered the promise of shelter. Most of Molly’s weight rested on Caleb’s thin shoulders, but Molly was too tired and weak to care. Together, with occasional help from Nott, they stumbled through the snow, crossing the last stretch into the little thicket.

Caleb wasted no time is settling Molly down against a fallen log where he lay, half conscious as he watched them set camp, watched Nott gathering wood, and Caleb bring a fire to blaze.

Hands tangled in his hair, lifted his head.

“Look at me, Mollymauk.”

His arm, exposed to the air.

The wrappings coming undone.

“Stay with me, Mollymauk, stay with me.”

Heat. The rushing tingle of sensation as it flooded back to his flesh. The end of lifelessness bringing its own searing pain.

“Stay with me.”

 

 _Stay with me_.

Molly blinked. The space around him was soft, all green and gold and lush, blanketed by the deep velvet of the sky. Comfort settled into him, like settling onto a bed of moss.

_Hello my little one, my frostling. Do not fret._

_Moonweaver!_

She took him in her arms gently, his head resting against her chest as he looked up at her. The moons shone silver like glittering water through starlight, cascading down from the glory of her soft smile, and his heart was at peace.

_Hello my frostling, my beloved child._

Molly whimpered at the delicate deftness of her touch on his mutilated arm, slender fingers tracing the wounds, which knitted shut, leaving only the faintest trace of scars.

_All will be well, dear one. Have faith. You are on the right path._

_Will you protect me?_

Her laugh was the twinkling of bells.

_Caleb has done a fine job, but yes, I will aide you. I will not leave you defenseless. You have already seen what power I have seen to grant you, but there is still more. When you shed your own blood to defend against any who oppose you, it will give you a boon from my good will. Use it wisely, my heart._

_Thank you. Thank you, Moonweaver._

_Be still, now. And sleep. Rest easy, my frostling. My Molly-_

“-mauk?”

Groaning out of sleep, the last dregs of the dream swirling away into mist and dissipating from his memory, Molly rolled out his aching shoulders and sat. “’m awake.” Upon opening his eyes, Molly could see that Caleb was sitting back on his haunches, looking down. “G’morning, Caleb.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess. A bit sore.” He pushed back a sleeve; while the bite remained, the damage from it’s icy magic was gone. “Looks like I’ll be okay, though, right?”

“Hm… Ja, looks like.” Caleb put out a hand and, for a moment, Molly thought that Caleb was going to caress him, but at the last minute, Caleb pulled away. “Perhaps it is your infernal heritage.”

“Maybe so.”

The tension was suddenly thick and Molly had to clear his throat to get Caleb to look away from the healing wound. As if suddenly realizing what it was he was doing, Caleb stood, abruptly fast and walked away. Molly watched him go, but Nott obscured his vision, settling in where Caleb had been before, holding a vial of something that looked – and smelled – distinctly unappetizing.

“Hold still.” She tugged on his arm, pushing the sleeve far up out of the way. “This is a really good salve. I know it looks bad and smells worse, but it healed Caleb right up over the summer and it’ll do you just as well, alright? I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

“If you say so.”

Molly noticed that her lips twitched up in a little smile before she smeared a dollop on the bite wound, causing him to hiss at the sting.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. You’ll be fine. Just go back to staring at Caleb like he’s the only thing there is to see in the world, why don’t you?”

Shocked by her blatant statement and her jauntily arched brow, Molly could only splutter protestations before she smothered the wound even further, succinctly cutting off anything smart that he could have thought to say.

“I’ve seen you looking at him. I know what you meant yesterday, about the feeling you’ve got. Like you swallowed a flock of jays of something. I’ve been there. I’ve felt that.” Her nimble fingers pressed and packed the salve unrelentingly into the tears in his flesh. “Caleb’s my boy, and normally I’d warn you about breaking his heart, but I’m honestly more concerned about him breaking yours, at the moment. Don’t get your hopes up. There’s only one thing on Caleb’s mind right now, and it’s not you.”

 _It’s not_ you.

The shaky breath Molly took had nothing to do with the ache in his arm. In the same moment, Caleb turned and Molly had to look away to keep him from seeing the pained look that distorted his face. Too late, Molly realized that he’d likely have thought it nothing more than a reaction to the salve. Nott patted his hand in sympathy.

“Look, it’s not because he doesn’t like you,” she continued after a moment. “It’s just that he’s preoccupied. Honestly, Caleb’s never _not_ preoccupied. There’s only so much room in a person for all the things that they have to care about, and Caleb’s mission takes most of that space.” There was something Molly couldn’t quite place. Something in her voice. She sounded tired, worn, scared. Small. “There’s hardly any energy left in him for anything else at all.”

Molly lay a hand on Nott’s bony shoulder as she finished rewrapping his arm. “It’s going to be okay. He’s got me, now. You both do.”

“Thanks, Molly,” Nott said softly, accompanied by perhaps the first genuine smile that she’d ever bestowed him with.

“You’re welcome, Nott.”

Something was starting to smell quite good, and Molly noticed for the first time that Caleb was roasting something over the fire.

“Rabbit again,” Nott shrugged. “It’s all I’ve been able to find lately. And it’s not like Frumpkin would bring back much more than that anyways.”

When they joined Caleb around the fire, he was already carving off a leg, handing it over to Molly, and another for Nott. “Eat up. We still have a ways to go.”

Caleb didn’t even spare him a second look, heading right back to carving up their food, wrapping it for later in a bit of cloth tied by twine. For a moment, Molly wavered. Maybe Nott was right. Maybe it was better to just pretend that he wasn’t bursting with emotion, that even looking at Caleb made his pulse stutter. But the longer he stared, watching as Caleb rhythmically petted his cat with one hand, while attempting to bundle the meat in the other, the easier it was to convince himself that, even if Caleb didn’t love him now, maybe, just maybe, he could learn to do so later.

~

Their travels all that day went blessedly without issue. After the ice wraith attack the night previous, Caleb had been more concerned than ever that their tagalong was going to be more trouble that he was worth. But Mollymauk had managed to keep up and stick with him and Nott the whole day long, even though he wasn’t as hardened as they. It was clear he was pushing himself. Very little conversation marked their journey, put aside instead in favour of staying aware and alert should any more surprises – natural or otherwise – spring themselves upon the little party.

Much of the time, Caleb spent deep in contemplation, running through the events of the night prior, of the strange magic that he’d witnessed Molly use without even batting an eye. When he’d gone unconscious for a bought after they’d settled into camp, Caleb examined the strange red mark he’d once assumed to be a tattoo. The eye, by all appearances, was little more than that, save that when it burst, seemingly of its own volition, into a bloody mess, the Ice Wraith’s eyes covered over black and it had reared, temporarily blinded. That was strange and useful magic indeed, and Caleb was beginning to rethink his plans. It would all hinge on the discussion he intended to have with Nott that night, however. After Mollymauk went to sleep.

Very useful, or very dangerous.

All they while that they’d known one another, Caleb had to keep reminding himself of that word.

Dangerous.

When Caleb looked at Molly, he did not see dangerous. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word. Nuisance? Yes. Helpless? Once, but no longer. But dangerous…

Caleb glanced to the side. Nott was riding on his shoulders that day, while Molly walked beside them, watching the ground occasionally to avoid stumbling as he walked, ears twitching, alert when a noise resounded beyond the whistle of wind and the crunch of their boots in the snow.

He looked for all the world like a lost dog, trailing after a master who didn’t want him. But last night, he had proved himself formidable when given a weapon. Viciously, Molly had lunged with the dagger for the wraith as it attacked Nott, the blade hitting home even as Molly staggered from the pain of his own wounds.

  _Useful_ , hissed Ikithon’s voice. _He could be very useful. Dangerous people often are. But be wary that they do not become a danger to you._

“You should listen to your own advice.” Caleb muttered angrily under his breath in Zemnian.

“Sorry, what?”

“Ah!” Caleb shook his head, blinking rapidly as Molly watching him, head cocked curiously, waiting for an answer. “Eh, nothing. It is nothing. Just thinking.”

“Right.”

Nott patted his head. “Caleb’s always planning, Molly. Sometimes he’s just got to say things out loud for them to make proper sense, right, Cay?”

“Ja. That is, uh, accurate.”

That night, when Molly was safely asleep (it didn’t take much, after such a long day and his still healing wounds) and snoring lightly, Caleb nudged Nott.

“Hey, schatz. Are you still awake?”

“Yes,” Twin pinpricks of light shone out from the darkness, though which Caleb could see little to nothing. “What is it, Caleb?”

“What do think, now, of Mollymauk?”

Silence.

“I asked what you think, now, about Mollymauk.”

“I heard you, Caleb.” The rustle of her cloak made him flinch. “Why’re you asking?”

Focusing his thoughts as he processed her words, edged with suspicion, Caleb smiled wryly. “Because I am starting to think that he could be rather useful, as opposed to a liability. He has a magic of his own. Did you notice, how he has many red eyes tattooed over his body? How the one on his cheek burst, and the wraith was blinded before it attacked you? He very well could have saved your life.”

She shifted, and Caleb could tell that she was considering very carefully what to say next. “I know.” She put a hand on his. “You’re right, Caleb, that he could be very useful. Only the other day, though, you were convinced that his fits might be, ahh…detrimental.”

“They very well might be, but he has gone two days so far without one, and I for one would rather ask someone who is already interested in remaining with us, who does not have anything to lose, to join in our endeavor, as opposed to asking Jester, for example. Or Fjord. They have lives, dreams, and I wish to put them in as little danger as possible.”

“And Molly doesn’t?”

Nott flung the comment at Caleb, surprising him so thoroughly that her drew backwards. “Excuse me?”

“Molly doesn’t have dreams. You said that Molly doesn’t have dreams. Or a life.” The harshness of her words felt like a slap across the face. “Caleb, you’re implying he’s expendable!”

Confused, he blinked. “Is he not?”

“He’s _basically five days old_ , Caleb. An innocent!”

“You are suggesting, even after last night, he is innocent?” Caleb scoffed. “There was savagery in him, Nott, and strength. He is not a child, no matter how few memories he has.”

“That doesn’t make his innocence any less worth protecting, Caleb! I thought you of all people would agree with me on that.”  

“Why?” he asked, coldly. “Because my own innocence was shattered? Because I have suffered?”

“No, Caleb, I didn’t-“ She tried to cycle back, laying a hand on his leg, but Caleb pulled away with a sneer.

“It doesn’t matter. He is useful, and I cannot afford to pass up the opportunity to get the jump on Ikithon, if I am able, and, if we are lucky, Molly is still an unknown. Besides,” he added, calculatingly, watching the shadow of Nott’s form close for a reaction. “it is his choice what he does, is it not?”

“I don’t know, Caleb. I’m not sure of a lot of things. But,” she sighed. “I trust you. I do. Just, please, Caleb, think about this? Just because Molly is useful, and wants to help, doesn’t mean you should just let him. You owe it to him to tell him what he’s up against, Caleb. You owe him honestly. You gave me that much, and I stayed with you anyways. Give him the honesty he deserves and maybe he’ll reward you with the trust he’ll need to help you.”

That time, when she rested her hand on his ankle, he let her. “Please, Caleb. At least think about it. For me.”

Rarely, almost never before, had Nott been angry with him. To see her as upset as she was forced him to think more deeply than he really wanted. The truth of her words sunk heavy in his chest. “Ja,” he conceded. “Okay. I will…I will tell him only what is necessary, and he can make his decision. Is that acceptable?”

“I…yes. I suppose.” There was a pause before she shuffled out from where she had been seated and clambered into his lap, putting her arms around his neck. “Caleb, you know I love you, right? I’m on your side. I always have been. I’m just looking out for you.”

Warily, Caleb smiled into her hair as he returned her embrace. “Ja. I know, Nottchen. I know.”

She pulled away, laying a small hand on his cheek, rubbing her fingers through his beard. “Get some rest, Cay. We can talk more tomorrow.”

When she settled back down where she was before, Caleb mentally nudged Frumpkin to curl up over her as he had last night. When she seemed comfortable, he too lay back down, rolling to find a comfortable spot. They weren’t in as close of quarters as they had been the night before, but Caleb couldn’t help remembering how he woke that morning, clutching Molly’s shirt, his nose just nudging the beneath Molly’s purple ear, and Molly’s arm firmly around him. He’d stilled the moment he realized where he was before carefully extricating himself from the hold and then very firmly hadn’t thought about it all the rest of the day.

Until now.

Molly’s gentle snores had dissipated into little more than the occasional whistling breath, and he shivered where he lay, alone and uncovered save for his coat.

Reluctantly, Caleb allowed himself to recall just how warm Molly had been…how nice it was to wake without shivering for the first time in a long time…and inched closer to him, bridging the distance between them. He didn’t reach across, didn’t draw Molly into an embrace, but if he shifted even an inch closer, their foreheads would have touched. It was practical. Logical, Caleb reminded himself, trying not to think too hard about it and closed his eyes. And if Molly rolled in his sleep, and they ended up the same way they had that morning, then it was only the fault of their subconsciousness selves seeking warmth, and nothing else.  

 

Morning came. The soft bloom of dawn painted the world in beautiful colour. The only colour Caleb saw when he woke, was purple. A deep, beautiful plum.

Mollymauk.

Caleb waited a few minutes before finally resigning himself to pull away. It was at least another half an hour until the fullness of dawn, and Nott was curled up on Molly’s leg, drawn to his internal temperature, much the same as Caleb. Frumpkin was settled in her hair, kneading his claws into the fabric of her cloak.

For a while, Caleb only contemplated.

The silence was all consuming. Between the world’s breaths, the blush of the sun kissed his forehead in benediction.

Peace.

Caleb turned his face away.

He didn’t deserve it. He never had.

“It’s beautiful, Caleb.” Molly’s voice hardly disturbed him. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Ja, it is lovely.”

“You don’t seem convinced.”

“I find there is little beauty in the world for me,” he replied, matter of fact. “The rising of the sun this morning will only mean that we will be colder today than yesterday, when we had cloud cover.”

Molly shook his head. “Oh, Caleb. Isn’t that a pretty pessimistic perspective?”

“What do you know of pessimism?” he asked, not expecting the dark look that crossed Molly’s face.

“Enough, I suppose.” Molly ran a hand through his hair, taloned nails scraping at his scalp between his horns. “Enough to know that finding the beautiful in things is important, or I’d probably just have laid down somewhere and let you leave me behind days ago. You can’t live like that forever, Caleb.”

“Can’t I?” Molly’s unwavering gaze unsettled him, and he turned away. “No. I suppose you are right. But I cannot allow myself to do otherwise until all of this is over.”

“All of what?”

Nott’s breathing rhythm changed, Caleb’s ear attuned to it well, and he sucked in a breath before continuing.

“Vengeance, Mister Mollymauk. I am seeking vengeance against the man who killed my parents. He is extremely powerful. His name is Trent Ikithon, and, though he is not the ruler of all Zemni, nor even all of the Dwendalian Empire, he might as well be. Once, he was my mentor. I looked up to him. I learned everything I know from him and he…it is not important. My parents were a casualty in his little private war, and I mean to make him suffer. I want to destroy everything he has built, and when at last he sees it crumble around him, I will reveal myself and kill him where he stands. That is what I am doing, Mollymauk. That is my sole purpose in life. It is all I have dreamed for many, many years, and nothing – not you, not the winter, not anything – will keep me from achieving it.”

Molly leveled a stare. “I’m sorry to hear that, Caleb. I…” he tore his gaze away, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his coat. “I don’t understand the powers we both know I have, but I’m not afraid to use them. I can do so much, Caleb. Please, please let me help you.”

He was lying. Molly was lying and Caleb could see it plain as day on his lovely face. Terror wracked him, try as he might to hide it, but Caleb didn’t call him on it, waiting instead.

“Please, Caleb. I don’t have anything else. You saved my life. Let me do the same for you. Let me help you. I won’t be a bother. Please let me come with you.”

Caleb could have said many things.

He could have said no. He could have been more explicit with the danger, could have explained in gruesome, vivid detail exactly what it was that Ikithon was capable of. Could have warned Molly off, told him to leave once more and watch him slink away like a kicked dog.

Caleb did none of those things. Instead, he uttered a single word. Just one word. One word. It was enough.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Have speculations? Comments? Questions? I live for your interaction.


	8. 7.

“Winter changes into stone the water of heaven and the heart of man.”

~ Victor Hugo

 

“There is an instinctive withdrawal for the sake of preservation, a closure that assumes the order of completion. Winter is a season unto itself.”

~ Haruki Murakami

 

**8** ** th ** **of Cursaar**

In the end, Caleb worried over nothing. They crossed the bridge without issue, without even resorting to magic, simply pulling a cloak tightly over Molly, and settling the hood in such a manner that he was well hidden from view but went without suspicion. It helped that some sort of dispute took up the majority of the posted guard’s attention; he was the same man as Caleb had spoken to when Molly was having his fit, but as they passed through, the man only waved them on, preoccupied.

Molly was more concerned that the guard may have made a report, the likes of which Caleb had described to him as they came up on the bridge. The walk to Rexxentrum proper took almost the full rest of the day, but it rose up over the horizon in all its imposing grandeur with what Molly deemed sufficient aplomb. The wall, which ran long round the landscape, was made of stone, variegated in its shades of tan and brown from weathering; though the ramparts showed the most signs of age, they were in good repair and well manned, the Crownsguard so far away that they look like crows hopping by. Behind that first wall, rose a second level. Molly could see that it was there, that it was beyond, but the second wall itself wasn’t quite visible, falling away into the background of thatch and tile that made up the various roofs that crest back and up, built on the hill. Five tiers in total were revealed out of the snowy haze, with the highest building, a most impressive tower topped by a wicked looking wrought iron spire, surpassing even the majesty of the Emperor’s palace, which was no mean height. In combination, the two bore down a menacing shadow in the gloom and grey, like wolves that had cornered their prey.

Molly couldn’t help but shiver. It was from that wretched place Caleb had run, and to that same place they were returning. A part of him wanted to grab Caleb and shake him. _Why? Why can’t you just forget everything and leave this place?_

“I don’t feel well,” Molly said, avoiding the angry glare of the tower, which seemed to watch him no matter which way he turned. It was unsettling.

Nott put a hand on his arm. “Good thing we’re heading to see a healer then, don’t you worry.”

Molly didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t a physical dis-ease that bothered him, for Caleb was still trudging forwards. They picked their way slowly through the slop of animal droppings mixed with murky snow and mud, left rutted by numerous footprints and cart tracks, until the wall, which had before seemed so distant, became a dominating obstacle rising up before him to an intimidating height. Craning his neck, Molly watched the tower, looming threateningly.

“What’s in that tower, Caleb?”

“That is the Cerberus Assembly. The Mage Tower of Rexxentrum. Home to Trent Ikithon and many other powerful persons of arcane talent.”

At the name, which rang in Molly’s memory as one Caleb had spat with particular venom, Molly whirled. “Wait, did you-?”

“Ja. Once.” Caleb regarded the tower, a shadow crossing his face. “Once.”

The realization came to Molly so suddenly, that it stopped him in his tracks. Caleb was a wolf too. That was how he saw himself, standing there in stalwart opposition, leveling his insignificant gaze at the powerful, towering over him (literally). At the people who had ruined his life, at the man who had killed his parents. Caleb was a wolf, alone in the cold, turned on by his packmates, bitter at the world, vicious and determined to survive, to exact his measure of flesh on those who wronged him…

“Mollymauk? Is everything alright?” Caleb and Nott were waiting for him a few paces ahead.

“Yes, coming. Sorry, Caleb.” Molly called back, nodding firmly as he rushed to meet them.

Caleb might have thought he was alone, but Molly vowed, there, at the foot of the foreboding city, that Caleb would never have to be alone again.

 

The closer they drew to the city, the more impressive it became, though remaining familiar in a strange sort of way, like Molly had been there before, but had come in by a different path; for some reason, he felt that it should look smaller, less dour than it was, but, as he had no way of explaining it, he kept silent. The thing that surprised Molly the most was the noise. Compared to the muffled, snow covered hills he’d traversed mostly silently with his companions, their voices often swallowed by the expansive vistas, Rexxentrum was a cacophony of sounds, the bustling multitudes paying no heed to Molly, Caleb, or Nott as they were swept into the fast moving current of people.

Molly took it all in with wide eyes. How Caleb could be concerned about being sniffed out by those seeking him when there were so many people amongst whom they could disappear was beyond Molly – it seemed like it would almost be easier to be found leaving the city than hiding within its walls, but then, what did Molly know of it? In the end, the only choice he had was to trust Caleb.

If he couldn’t trust Caleb, what else did he have?

The answer, a voice in the back of his head whispered treacherously, was nothing.

Without Caleb, Molly had nothing.

Jogging to keep up as Caleb and Nott wove quickly through the roving throng, Molly’s hood blew back as he brushed roughly past a tall woman in a black tabard with a red emblem emblazoned across the chest and worn leather pauldrons. Her shoulder, however, didn’t so much move as he did, the contact bouncing him backwards. Barely keeping his balance, Molly righted himself, about to stammer an apology, when he caught sight of her stormy expression.

“Watch where you’re going, demon spawn!” She spat at him, a hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. “Running about like you’re in the hells. Where you should be, if I ‘ad a say in it.”

“I’m sorry, I was just trying not to get lost. My friends –“ Molly spluttered, frantically; Caleb and Nott were nowhere to be seen.

“That isn’t the way to address a guard Captain. Now, look here, demon-boy, where’d you come from anyways? There aren’t that many of you within the city, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that’s purple.”

Heart pounding, Molly glanced through the crowd, looking for a small figure with large ears, or even a flash of red hair, but saw nothing but another person, outfitted much the same as the woman, starting towards him.

“Please, I-“ Molly started to say, eyes darting nervously between the two. In his ear, blood rushed loud. “I’m visiting my cousin!” he blurted out, remembering hazily Caleb’s mention of the other tiefling in the city. “She runs an inn!”

The Captain narrowed her eyes. “Right. The blue one. Makes sense I suppose. Don’t see lots of blue ones around either.”

Molly swallowed so hard he was sure that the Captain could hear it. “Yes. We’re a rare pair the two of us, indeed. I’m terribly sorry for having caused such a ruckus. My deepest apologies, good Captain.” With grandiose over-exaggeration, Molly swooped down into a ridiculous bow, his hand held out by his slender, booted foot. “I’ll just find my friends and be on my way, then?” he asked, voice lilting upwards in the slightest question as he looked up at them. “And I’ll be no more trouble, good, Captain. You’ll not see or hear hide nor hair of my purple self!”

Unimpressed, the Captain grumbled. “Get a move on then.”

“Of course, Captain, my sincerest apologies Captain…”

As the guards moved away, Molly trailed off, still bowing obnoxiously low, watching them with keen eyes as they took up posts again, their attention drawn by other scuffles in the distance. When he was sufficiently certain that no one was watching him anymore, he pulled out of the genuflection, and pulled the hood up more tightly over his head. Carelessness, it seemed would only get him into the kind of trouble that Caleb was trying to avoid.

The crowd of people grew larger as the hour grew later, the sun falling beneath the level of the outer wall, only an orange hued glow visible over its height, turning the milling guards into lurking black shadows.

Mindful of where he was going despite his hurry, Molly darted in the direction he thought Caleb and Nott had gone. Several minutes passed when he stood, turning in a circle, hoping he would see someone he recognized, but none of the faces stood out, passing by in a blur.

Panic began to well in his throat.

“Alright, Mollymauk. You talked down the guards on your own, you didn’t need Caleb for that! Think! Think!” He stopped spinning in place and started to casually walk back towards where he’d lost them. He waited there until the orange glow had receded to a teal, but neither Caleb nor Nott had come back for him. Loudly, his stomach rumbled.

“Okay, plan one, not working. Plan two.”

The dim light wasn’t really a bother to Molly, but the crowds of people were lessening and he needed someone to speak to him. If the guards were anything to go by, a discussion with someone of _his kind_ , he thought bitterly, probably wasn’t going to be welcomed. But he had little choice.

One of the vendors on the street was just packing away a few goods, but it looked to be as good of an option as any.

“Excuse me,” he said, sidling up to the little shopfront. “I’m looking for an Inn.”

“There’s a few Inns about,” the shopkeep said, not even bothering to look up at Molly from their work.

“Yes, but I’m looking for a particular one. One that’s run by a tiefling woman. If you happen to know-“

The Shopkeep looked up from the stores of drying meats, pushing their intricately braided hair out of their face. “You’re looking for Jester?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s the one. I’m just absolutely terrible with names you see, my memory isn’t as it once was and I-“

“I’m Hallam, for your knowledge, though I don’t suppose it will keep. Jester’s at the Traveller’s Way. I can take you there myself – she puts on a mean spread.”

“Oh! I’m Molly!” Surprise dispersed across his face. “Lovely, dear, thank you! I’m got some friends I’m meant to meet up with, and I’ll be in your debt for this.”

“Not to worry,” they waved a hand. “I don’t like any sort of debt. I’m headed there anyways, you just don’t mention that I did you a favour and we’ll call it even then.”

Molly nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll not mention a word, Hallam. But truly, thank you.”

Hallam gave a wry smile, grey eyes narrowed. “You looked a little lost.”

A soft smile spread across Molly’s face. “That’s an understatement. I’ve never been in the city before…I think. And then I got into a little bit of an altercation with the Crownsguard and then I couldn’t find my friends and I am…yeah, I’m lost.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Hallam looked him up and down. “Well, regardless of if you’re lost, you’re sure to be easily enough found. Keep that hood up, or you’ll end up in a spot of trouble that the guard aren’t likely to assist you with.”

“Yeah,” Molly said, looking back in the direction the guards had left, “I got that picture.”

Hallam made for a relatively quiet companion as they led Molly through the sparsely lit streets. The wind had kicked up, and was coming from the north, which left Molly holding tight to his hood to keep it from blowing off again, but they encountered no more trouble. Not too long after they set off, Molly spotted a beautifully painted sign, swinging in the wind that bore the image of an open door, and a path, leading into the distance.

“This is the place, Molly. I hope you find your friends.”

“I will!” _I think_. Molly forced a smile. “Thank you muchly for your kind assistance!”

Hallam neglected to respond, instead holding open the door for him to pass inside. “Well, get on,” they said, waving him through. “Stand here all day, you’ll be an icicle.”

Without waiting any longer, Molly stepped inside. For the lateness of the hour, the Inn seemed to be a comfortable degree of fullness; initially, he’d expected it to be packed, what with how all of the people disappeared from the streets, but then, Molly considered the experience he’d had at the hands of the guards. Some folk, at least, did not seem to mind. In fact, no one batted an eye as he entered, Hallam behind him, save the half orc at the bar.

“C’mon in,” he called in an unfamiliar accent. “What can I get for ya?”

Molly blinked at first, still taking in the new surroundings. The mingling scents of food and drink were more pungent inside such a closed area. Save for the noise, the light strains of a dulcimer, the interior of the inn reminded him mostly of Nila’s, the flickering glow of the fire mysterious as it cast shadows over even the most mundane faces. Molly’s tingling limbs warmed gradually as he looked around; Caleb and Nott were nowhere to be seen.  By the time Molly really noticed that the barkeep had spoken to him, Hallam was already walking away with a drink.

“Hello! Yes, I’d like something warm, thanks!”

The half orc, a handsome, though tuskless fellow with a shock of silver streaked through his hair looked Molly up and down with an arched brow. “You got coin, stranger?”

“Coin?” Molly asked, perplexed.

“Yeah, you know, the stuff that jingles nice-like in your pockets?” The barkeep lifted a bright, shining disk between two fingers. “Coin. Money. Copper, silver, gold, you know.” His eyes narrowed and Molly shifted on his feet, trying to think fast.

“Right! Coin! So sorry, it’s the cold, you know, has my hearing all funny. I thought you said ‘join’ and I was confused for a minute. But you meant coin, and I knew that, so we’re square,” he rattled off quickly, not skipping a beat, watching the half-orc’s face go through a wide range of emotions from suspicion to confusion to bemusement. “But, you know, more than that drink,” Molly shifted the conversation, leaning heavily forward on the bar, so he could speak more privately to the half-orc. “I’m rather looking for a few friends of mine, one tall, one small, you know the drill, quite the pair. See anyone rather like that? We got mixed up in the square and I lost sight of them in the hubbub.” The words dripped off his lips, enticingly enough, but the Half-Orc didn’t seem to be buying them.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

“Mollymauk. Mollymauk Tealeaf. Molly to my friends.” “Well-“

“I’m here to see my cousin. She’s good friends with them. She’s quite a bit like me, if you know what I mean…” he smirked, tossing his horns, his wind blow curls falling over his forehead.

“You’re here to see…Jester?”

The name, now that the barkeep had uttered it, came floating back in Caleb’s dulcet tones, for as readily as it had eluded him all afternoon. “Yes. That’s the lady herself, friend…”

“Fjord. Name’s Fjord.” The Barkeep knocked the coin on the table. “You stay put. I’ll be back in a jiff,” he ordered, before disappearing back

Tail tapping in an anxious pattern against his leg, Molly leaned his back up against the edge of the bar, hands just hanging off the edge and waited. _Coin_ wasn’t something he’d anticipated, and without Caleb around he didn’t even know how to get it, which was certainly going to be a problem. If just a drink required coin, then certainly other things did too. Like food. And, judging by the continual rumbling and sinking empty feeling in his stomach, he’d been needing that sooner rather than later. While there was a lot to look at (people of all sorts) Molly couldn’t bring himself to think about anything else. Impatiently, he drummed his fingers on the edge of the bar.

What if Caleb had abandoned him?

What if he –

“It was Molly, right?”

Jumping just a bit, Molly turned to see that Fjord had returned.

“Yeah.” He swallowed, not liking the look that the barkeep was giving him. “Molly. That’s me.”

“Right.” Fjord nodded his head very slowly, lips pursed. “Well, you come on with me then. Your, uh, _cousin_ , is waitin’ in the kitchen.” Fjord lifted bar hatch. “Oh through this way, if you don’t mind.”

For just a moment, Molly hesitated, worried that he’d said too much about Caleb and Nott, that Jester wasn’t back there, that someone who knew him before his memory ran out was taking advantage of him… But he didn’t have a choice and followed Fjord behind the bar.

As the music and idle chatter fell away, the heat really kicked in from the hearthfire over which a savory smelling stew was bubbling and steaming away. Bent over the pot was a blue tiefling woman. She straightened up and wiped her brow with her apron before glancing at Molly. In half a second she’d scrutinized him carefully before transitioning to an enormous, beaming smile, her white fangs glinting in the flame.

“Oh yeah, Fjord, that’s totally Molly!” She put out a hand in offering, and he took it, instantly charmed by her bubbly, easy nature. “Caleb said you were flashy, but he didn’t mention how gorgeous! Your hair is so pretty! And your tattoos!” she fawned over him. “I’m Jester by the way, and you’ve met Fjord already,” she put her hand up in a stage whisper, winking. “He’s really, really cute, right?”

Sensing an invitation, Molly smiled knowingly. “So cute,” he replied. “But I’ve also met you, dear, and I think you’re the cuter by far.” He threw a glance over his shoulder. “No offence, Mister Fjord.”

“Oh, by all means, none taken,” he said genially, shrugging his stiffened shoulder. “I’m generally in agreement on that point of fact, as it stands. Jess, you want me to take over in here?”

“Yes, thank you Fjord!” She squeezed Molly’s hand tightly as she led him along through a side door and up the stairs. “I put Caleb and Nott in a room upstairs. There’s probably still some dinner up there, but if there isn’t, I’ll bring you something along up later.” At the top of the stair, she stopped, pulling his hands up between them. “I haven’t known Caleb a really long time or anything, but I know him pretty well, you know? I’m really glad that you got here okay, because he seemed kind of concerned, and like, coming from Caleb that’s practically a declaration of love, you know? Because he’s like, _so_ withdrawn.”

Furiously, Molly blushed, feeling as the blood rushed into his cheeks. “He is rather nice though, isn’t he?”

Jester grew serious. “Oh, well…yes. I think so, at least. Most of the time. I love Caleb! But you know, he can be a real dick sometimes too. So don’t let him be mean to you either.”

“I don’t think he’s mean,” Molly started, but Jester gave him a hard look and he wavered under her glare. “He’s just…got a lot on his mind. What with all this being hunted business, I guess.”

“Take care of yourself, Molly.” Jester said, an earnest look on her face. “Promise? Tiefling to tiefling?”

“I promise.”

The smile that brightened her soft features was genuine. “Good. Alright, follow me. You know how jumpy Caleb can be, I think, so I’ll just peak in first…”

Jester trailed off as she grabbed a doorknob, and knocked on the door before peeking her head into the room, exclaiming brightly. “Caayleb! Nott! Guess who showed up!”

From the interior of the room, Molly heard the scraping of chairs across the floor and the soft muffled syllables of Caleb’s voice before Jester stepped aside wordlessly to let Molly in. There stood his companions; Nott’s smile was toothy in contrast to the dark and stormy landscape of Caleb’s features.

“What happened?” he asked Molly as Jester shoved him through the door and pulled it shut behind him.

“I got stopped by one of your Crownsguard, that’s what. I think they’d have hauled me off! And where were you?” Molly asked, a bit more sharply than he’d intended. “By the time I was free and clear, I couldn’t find either of you _anywhere_!”

Only then did it hit him how frightened he’d really been, as though he’d pushed aside all of the turmoil to get himself to safety and now, the slog of fear was bearing down on him like the ocean waves that crashed thunderous on the frozen shores of the Erdeloch in the north. He sank into the first chair he saw and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, and his tail firmly over about his calf.

“We could say the same for you-“ Caleb started, but Nott cut him off with an admonishing turn of the head.

“Next time, stay where you are and Caleb or myself will come find you. Don’t wander, if you can help it, alright? No matter how long it seems to take.” Her voice was gentle, as infinitely soft as her hand as she laid it over his, patting gently. “Rexxentrum is a big place, and while I get the feeling you’re generally a fair hand scrappy, the politics of this city aren’t necessarily something you’re used to dealing with, and that can be very frightening. Trust me,” she looked to him with soulful eyes, “I’ve been there. I understand. Life isn’t easy for a goblin at the best of times, but here, in the heart of the Empire? I know something about what you went through today. Regardless. Don’t panic, just stay put, and you’ll be safe. I promise.”

Molly narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “I believe you. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

A quick glance at Caleb was all it took for Molly to recognize that Caleb wasn’t quite ready to put an end to the conversation. Swallowing his pride, Molly threw a challenging glance in Caleb’s direction. “Go on then, say your piece.”

Stormy grey eyes stared him down. “The crownsguard stopped you.”

Molly could clearly hear the distinction between question and statement, but he answered regardless. “Yes. They did.”

“What did they want?”

“They were being assholes, that’s all. About me being a tiefling. Nothing else. By dinner, I’m sure they forgot all about me. I’m nobody, afterall. What’s the problem with that?”

“Basta.” Caleb said. “It is not nothing. You are _identifiable_ and I have to go unseen. They have marked you out. If you think that they have had their fun and it will cease now, you are sorely mistaken, all the more for your innocence. Do you think that Jester, for as long as she has lived here, run a respectable business, does not daily face retribution for who and what she is? No, now you will have to stay here. You cannot possibly assist me. I require to go unseen, unnoticed, especially here. Had I gone back for you today, I would have been arrested, do you understand? If I am seen-“ Caleb shook his head, his fingers curling into tight fists. “Though I do not look so much like I used to, though I am older and dirtier and skinnier and all things that would make a man go unnoticed in a place such as this, you _invite_ those stares by nature of your very being. And then, my own existence would be up for inspection and I assure you then, that you would not have found your way back to either of us. _Verdammt_ , magic is banned here, and if I am seen to be altering your appearance, the jig will be up and we will all suffer for it. Nein.” He stated, adamantly. “Nein, this is it for us. I have brought you now to Jester, and here you must remain, separate from me. Nott and I will do our own work, and you may do whatever else you please, but, lass mich allein, verstehst?”

“No.” Molly threw back. “You are totally misreading the situation. Caleb, I am what will keep you from going unnoticed!” The thoughts sparked brightly as Caleb’s fire in his mind. “If I’m there, they’ll see me, yes, and focus on me. I’ll be a nuisance, freeing you to go and do whatever it is you like. They won’t pay any more attention to you than usual! In fact, they might pay less attention. And sure, they might catch on eventually, but then we just retire the act and switch tactics for a while. It’s _perfect_ , Caleb, don’t you see? I talked my way out of trouble today. You give me a bit of coaching about how things work around here and I can be a living, walking distraction.”

Nott pursed her lips grimly. “You know, he’s got a point, Caleb. Sure, peasants are beneath their notice, but they’re still an annoyance – we’ve both seen how the guards treat the folks down at the Wall. If Molly’s being an even bigger pain, well, so much the better for you, right?”

A shot of air puffed from Caleb’s nostrils skeptically. “Ja, and what happens when they are finally sick of him and decide to throw him in the stocks? Or behind bars?”

Molly grinned. “I’ve a solution for that. They won’t dare. I’m flashy and I’ve a loud voice and if I draw enough attention from the crowd – harmless attention – would they really be able to do anything? What if I just, put on a show? Or something?”

“Oh, ja?” Caleb crossed his arms. “And what can you do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find something. I promise you that I will. I said I wouldn’t be useless and I didn’t _try_ for any of this to happen today! It wasn’t something I could have prevented, Caleb, but I’m trying to make up for it, don’t you see? I can help you! I’m useful.” Molly pressed. “I am.”

“We will see.”

* * *

 

 

Surprisingly light on his feet, Caleb made his way to the alley via a brisk walk, dodging and weaving between people. One man spat in his direction, but Caleb didn’t mind, allowing it to drip down his cheek without a word. The third tier wasn’t the fanciest, so he wouldn’t be pulled aside for intermingling with people in rank higher than he, but it didn’t hurt to allow the slight; even allowing the perception of humility was enough to turn him invisible in the crowd.

He was half to the Hall, when Molly’s lilting accent crested through the low hum of the crowd.

“My fine citizens! Adult and children alike! Gather round! Gather round!”

For half a moment, Caleb stopped, turned with the flow of the crowd to see as Molly balanced on a stone bench, arms out to his sides.

“It’s a dull, grey day, and if you’ve the time, I’d love to offer you something to brighten and cheer! Look and see, if you will, my fine folks, that even the greatest fool can accomplish something spectacular!”

And then, Caleb watched as he pulled the two glittering glass swords, borrowed from Jester, and the dagger that had been in his coat, and began to juggle them, all while rocking back and forth on the edge of the stone bench. When he saw the Crownsguard move, Caleb looked to the shadows across the way, where Nott was currently laying in wait. She caught his eye and nodded before melting back into the darkness. Caleb followed suit.

He’d already seen what Molly had planned the night before, how he would end with the dagger balanced on the tip of his nose and then have the audacity to bow. How he would pepper the performance with jokes and compliments to the Crownsguard, how he would then sweep his hand out, holding an open pouch for offerings, dagger still balanced in place. It was good. It would suffice. If all went well…

It had to.

He slipped his way down the alley and around the corner where he met once more with Nott, who peered out from the opposing corner. One quick nod alerted him that the coast was clear and he put his head down, following the tracks in the muddy snow across the courtyard to the grand temple to Bahamut. The interior was sparse, considering how large the temple was from the exterior. Roughshod pews furnished the hall, with only a large, beautifully wrought wood dais at the far end, upon which stood a pearly white statue of the Great Dragon himself. The walls, between windows, were draped with tapestries bearing the great dragon’s symbol, and held in the overpowering, cloying scent of religious incense which was burned so many times daily, Caleb could only imagine how much of their allotted funds went to replenishing their stores. With perfect reverence, Caleb sat down on one of the pews towards the front. He knew, from his time as a boy, that the Priest’s chambers were off to the left, so he sat to that side, purposefully angling himself so that he could easily hear anything that transpired nearby.

A few other worshippers were clustered further to the right about a small shrine, chanting in unison. Caleb knew the prayer as well as the back of his hand and, softly, bowing his head, began to murmur it without any particular belief to charge the words. No, the only protection such a prayer would offer Caleb was the gift of invisibility – just one more devout worshipper in the halls of the Platinum Dragon.

“ _I lift up your name, O First of Dragons, and pray_

_To uphold your sacred charge._

_Let me protect those around me, as your wings_

_Enfold us._

_Let me seek for truth, as your eye watch over us._

_Let me strike against wickedness, as your talons_

_Defend us._

_Let me resist temptation and falseness, as your_

_Heart guides us._

_I lift up your name, O First of Dragons, and pray_

_To uphold your scared charge.”_

From beneath his eyelashes, Caleb peered out and around, watching carefully as a silver robed figures went around their business. In his head, he counted off the minutes, as the bells rounded out the hours, noting where and when they passed, how often they headed into the back room, what their names were as he heard them used.

Every detail was compounded together into his brain, kept for later when he would reunite with Nott and go over everything that she noted from her hiding place on the exterior of the building. As the temple was open to the public for only part of the day, Caleb had worked a schedule wherein he could visit for each of the hours that it was open.

On some days, he would pray, on others, he would beg, never quite in the same place or in the same routine. Fjord had even offered up some of his spare clothes to give Caleb a different look, and hiding his hair under a hood was enough to make his less obvious most days.

The first day came and went a success, Molly was just enough of a distraction that he always drew a crowd, without completely disturbing the Crownsguard, who mostly ignored him, perhaps in hopes that he would eventually just give up and go away. In order to throw suspicion, Molly only performed at certain times of the day, generally twice, with Caleb noting with interest which days and times he drew the most attention. Most days, Molly barely made a coin, but every time that they reunited within the Traveller’s Inn, the tiefling was quick to flick whatever coin he had made in Caleb’s direction, a proud grin on his face.

On the fourth day, Caleb was pretending to pray again, when his mind began to wander distractedly to his unlikely companion. The night before he’d flashed a bright grin in Caleb’s direction and held out the pouch.

“Three whole copper, Caleb!” he announced proudly. “Please, take it.”

“Ah, but it is your money, Mister Mollymauk,” he’d said, putting his hand over Molly’s and pushing it back towards his chest. “You have more than earned it. And the Crownsguard did not give you trouble today?”

A strange look crossed Molly’s face as he pulled the drawstring on the pouch and stuffed it into his pocket. “No, I think they’ve determined I’m harmless, despite my ‘demonic heritage’. “He rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Little kids like me; it keeps them entertained and out from underfoot, so they’re still leaving me alone. I think it ought to continue to work. I can…I can come up with something else though?” he speculated hopefully, gaze darting in Caleb’s direction. “For the day you make your move, maybe? Or the day before, so it’s not so suspect, but’ll still draw a larger crowd? What can I do to help you, Caleb?” he’d asked with such sincerity that Caleb almost wanted to just turn and walk away. “What can I do?”

“Just keep on as you are,” Caleb had told him.

But he had not missed the flash of disappointment in Molly’s eyes.

In the lull between ceremonies at the temple, Caleb thoughts found themselves centered on that one, singular look, the fallen expression and weak smile that he’d provided Caleb with after nodding his ascent.

And Caleb hadn’t even thanked him.

 _Foolish. It doesn’t matter._ Ikithon’s voice whispered. _What does it matter that he is unhappy? He is doing the work, and it is beneficial to the plan and as long as that is the case, there is no point it getting upset. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter._

But, if that were true, why then couldn’t Caleb put the memory of Molly’s fading smile from his mind, where it gnawed at him constantly?

Physically shaking the inconvenience from his head, Caleb doubled down, running the plans through his head again.

The Head Priest, a halfling named Wysteria Qiulen, kept her offices fairly neatly organized, at least it sounded that way, based on the conversations that he had heard a few young acolytes having during their routine cleaning of the chapel. She took tea at three in her suits, and met with the other upper echelon members of the Platinum dragon’s worship in Rexxentrum, as well as Ikithon himself. As Archmage of Civil Influence, it was his duty to oversee all religious aspects of the state.

But it was mostly for show. Caleb knew better than most – and didn’t that seem to be the case in an awful lot of situations, he thought bitterly – that any semblance of ‘religion’ within Rexxentrum proper and it’s other annexed lands was little more than a placation to keep the public happy.

 _Come now, my boy, and recite the prayer. If we are to keep order in all things, we must be knowledgeable in all things; if the people believe it, then we must understand their belief and participate in it. How should Lord Sommerfeld feel if you do not show deference to the chosen god of his worship? When the people are happy, Caleb, then the people are your friend, and you are theirs. And you must_ always _be the people’s friend, in their eyes. The moment that they smile at you and it is not genuine, you have failed. Verstehst?_

_Ja, Herr Ikithon._

Forcibly, he pushed the memory away, fingers flexing at his sides, and imagined instead the look on the old man’s face when Caleb would reveal himself, finally. He was just about to stand and leave, his concentration completely ruined, when he heard a sound he would never forget, echoing through the chamber. The hollow, ringing _clack_ was unmistakable. His own boots, after all, had made that sound across the marble floors of the halls of Erudition, and the lecture chambers of the Academy in his schooldays.

“Ah, Mage Vogel, how can I be of service this day?” One of the vigilantes, a young half elf boy, with nut brown skin and pale yellow hair like summer sheaves of grain, bowed low before her. “Prelate Qiulen did not intimate that you would be meeting today. Can I offer you some tea?”

It was Astrid.

Unmistakable, Caleb took in her figure from his peripherals. Though she still kept her hair short, it was longer on the top, and a mite unkempt in that way that Astrid had always desired. His former schoolmate was dressed to the nines in her official Assembly robes, white now, with red embroidery on her shoulder and a navy cote over which hung the same vermillion tabards as always. Too busy trying to master control over himself, Caleb mostly missed her response.

In the shadowed, incense-smoky corner, Caleb forced himself to continue mouthing the prayer, keeping his head bowed low, even as he snuck glances out of the corner of his eye.

The head Priestess hurried from out her rooms, bowing low before Astrid.

“Mage Vogel, of what service can I be to the _Unterlagen-Behörde_ today?”

Astrid, her back rigid as ever, held out a scrolled document.

“These are the updated plans and requirements from Archmage Ikithon regarding the ceremony at the beginning of next month. They require your adjustment or approval. I will return for them at the end of this week.”

Qiulen blinked rather rapidly. “You are delivering the plans yourself?”

Cocking her head, Astrid sneered. “There was a bit of trouble with our runner and I would much rather these documents arrive and return safely than in any other condition. Suffice to say, if you wish to pass on any messages to young Master Maier, you will have to do so via his replacement.”

Julien. She was talking about Julien.

Caleb stayed stock still, waiting with baited breath to hear Astrid’s heals click together, signifying her departure.

“Be sure, Prelate, that those are kept-“

“Under lock and key, yes, yes I know, Mage Vogel.”

“Good.”

And with that final word, and a click of heels, Astrid spun on the spot and departed.

“ _Verrückt Vogel_ ,” the Prelate muttered deridingly. “Come Niehe,” she said to the vigilante. “We have work to do.”

Only a moment later, the chamber was empty, but Caleb, his heart pounding impossibly loudly to his own ears, made no move to leave, instead dropping to his knees on the floor, and resting his forehead against the back of the pew in front of him, futilely willing the burning sting of tears to dissipate. He stayed that way another hour, before the mid afternoon bell sounded, and he could no longer put off exiting the temple. And if he felt Nott’s curious eyes on him from her perch, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Nothing had really happened, after all.

Nothing really happened, and so, when Nott gave him a worried look, he told her he was fine. Astrid had not seen him. Astrid had not even spared a glance as the dirty worshipper, praying resolutely to his god, when Caleb well knew that Astrid found no good in being on her knees for anyone. That had always been one lesson Astrid refused to learn. Some days, Ikithon had rewarded her for it, and others, punished.

_You must know your place._

_I do, Herr Ikithon. I worship no one and nothing. Anyone who would fall to their knees is weak._

_Is that so?_

Caleb remembered smirking, knowing full well that her refusal to play humble would cost her. Caleb had not needed to be taught that lesson. But Astrid was headstrong and proud, where Caleb had seen the benefit of playing the lesser in order to gain power over another. Subterfuge and calculation had always been his strong, where hers was brute force.

_What you lack in her boldness, you make up for in your ruthlessness. She is quick to show her hand, swooping in like a raptor, more quickly than her prey can recognize, and you are like the cat who plays with his food before he eats it, you play that friend first and then wear it down until there is no resistance left. But be careful – while she is quick to snap her claw down over the neck, losing all of the potential for savouring a meal, you run the risk of losing yours all together if you are not careful. Yours is a delicate art, my boy, and you can never be too vicious in its execution._

_And what of Eodwulf?_

Caleb remembered how Ikithon chuckled.

_Eodwulf is an animal all his own._

Fjord brought them dinner that night, before rushing back down to handle the evening crowd. Nott scarfed down a few sausage links before announcing that she was headed to the kitchen to assist Jester, leaving Caleb and Molly alone together for what may have been the first extended time in their knowledge of one another. Throughout their dinner, Caleb could feel the growing tension, Molly watching him almost shamelessly, even in Caleb’s full view, as if waiting for an invitation to speak.

Caleb sighed, putting down his biscuit. The crumbs rattled on the plate “What?”

“Is everything alright?” Molly asked almost immediately, putting aside his own plate. “You look…different. I’m worried about you.”

 Against soft firelight, Molly’s plum coloured hair seemed almost black, and his gem red eyes faintly glowed, but there was a softness to his manner. It was present in the way his hands folded onto the table between them as if reaching across. It was present in the slight part of his lips. It was present in the flick-swish of his tail.

“You’ve done so much for me, Caleb, let me do something for you? Please? I know that I’m loud and obnoxious and I frustrate you and argue with you at every turn, but I just…” A soft sigh escaped him. “I just want to help you.”

“And you have been. At personal risk, and while we did argue on that point, ja,” Caleb conceded, “All of your flashy colours and bright, boisterous movements, all of it has aided me. You have been helpful, Mollymauk. You have.”

“Molly. Please.” Maybe it was the glare of the fire across his features, or maybe Caleb was just seeing things, but for a moment, he could have sworn that he saw a strangely pained look there. “Just Molly.”

Caleb swallowed heavily. _You are using him, and he wants you to be his friend. You are_ using _him and you would agree to-_ “Okay, Molly. Okay. And I…Danke Schön. For everything. Even when I argued with you. Thank you.” _I do not deserve your friendship._

A wry grin grew up from the corners of Molly’s mouth. “I’ll have to tell Jester that she was wrong. Yeah, you can be a dick, I suppose, but at least you’re my dick.”

Unable to help himself, Caleb chuckled softly and noticed that Molly’s smile, though small, was genuine.

“Really though.” He said earnestly. “I know, at least – even if no one else believes me  - that you’re soft on the inside, Caleb Widogast. Or you’d have abandoned me long ago.”

Uncharacteristically, Caleb felt the need to reach out for Molly, to take his hand and feel the connection of lifelines beating in tandem, to make real the fact that they were real, that they shared a common experience. Though his fingers twitched, Caleb kept his wayward limb to himself.

“You are a good person, Mister Mollymauk – Molly,” he corrected himself. “Truly. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to tell me, you know,” Molly said, pushing his hair back between his horns. “But if you need an ear to listen, I’ve got two, and I don’t know the meaning of judgement, so I’m the perfect audience.”

“Well, Molly, I have to make sure that my reputation stays intact, oder? So, I will continue to be, ah, how did you put it? ‘Your dick’ until such time as I no longer have need of a reputation.” Molly’s grin was so lascivious that Caleb had to stifle another chuckle. “In truth,” he continued, rather seriously. “You have made me feel much better, and I am grateful for it. Today was a difficult day, in an already difficult series of days and I needed to laugh.”

Leaning back in his chair, arms spread wide, Molly gesticulated to himself. “At least I’m good for something.”

“Oh.” Caleb’s hand positively itched. “Oh, but you are good for more than that. I have…I have not made you feel welcome. I have been unnecessarily cruel, and for that I should apologize. Jester is right, I am a dick, ja? You are wide eyed where I am hardened, and you see things in ways that I do not. Remind me, sometime, of this conversation of ours, and then, when I am being an arschlöch again, it will quickly shut me up.”

Digging his nails into the meat of his thigh to keep his itching hand occupied, Caleb reached for his tankard of mead with the other hand and took a quick gulp, feeling it settle warm and loose in his belly. Even in the low light, it was obvious that Molly was flushed a deeper lavender and Caleb felt himself as though the fire was suddenly too warm. After wiping the froth from his mouth with the back of his hand, Caleb pushed back the chair; in the thick silence, it made a terrible racket, but Molly who had taken his own tankard in hand, didn’t react, taking instead several long draughts, his eyes casually averted for the first time that night.

Caleb, cheeks still aflame, moved even further towards the fire, resting an arm on the log mantel. “Do you ever wonder, Molly? Who you were, I mean? Do you wonder about-“

“My powers? Yes. I wonder about my powers. But I don’t care about who I was. That doesn’t matter anyways. I’m me now, and whoever I was before can go slouch off somewhere else. It’s my body now and even though I like it the way it is, I’m going to do what I want with it.”

Rubbing a hand roughly over his beard, Caleb nodded. “I respect that. I…I understand that. More than you know.”

“Thank you.”

Once more, silence fell between them. Caleb picked at a sliver in the mantlepiece. Molly drained his mead, but stayed seated, the weight of his gaze heavy on Caleb, who stared torturously into the flame.

“Caleb?”

“Hmmm.”

“What happened today? Do we…do we need to be more careful?”

“No, Molly.” Caleb shook his head and sighed, flinging the little bit of wood he’d prised from the mantle into the flame, where it was instantly devoured, reduced to ash.

_Astrid by his side, her fingers in his shoulder like daggers, You must do this, we all must do this. It is what is right. It is the only thing, and then we are free. And then we will be together and we will be free._

When Molly’s hand landed on Caleb’s shoulder, he flinched so violently, that Molly drew back.

“Caleb, I called your name, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m fine, Molly. I am fine.”

He did not look him in the eye. If he did, Caleb knew that Molly would have seen the lie, plain as day on his face.

Caleb was never fine.

* * *

The week drew to a close, the days passing much the same way that they had since they arrived. Molly had perfected his routine, Nott found the best vantage point and Caleb was ready to make his move. The daily habits of the priests and acolytes of Bahamut were catalogued and organized to perfection in his brain; even the slightest deviation was accounted for; all he had to do was sneak into the Prelate’s chambers, let Nott in the window, get into the safe and memorizes the plans. He’s waited until the last day, knowing full well that it may be his last chance, but he couldn’t afford for anything major to be altered in the time being. And, once he knew how the celebration of Embertide was scheduled to commence, he would be able, at long last, to plan his final act of vengeance against the man who had murdered his parents.

It would be sweet, and satisfying, and bitter, bitter cold.

As close as it was, Caleb could wait. He’d waited many years already, what was but a few more measly weeks?

But first, the plans.

Molly was set to amp up his show, to draw as much of the crowd away from the temple area during the day as possible, that Nott might slip inside. They’d discussed the night before that if it came to it, they would risk using magic to break in. It was worth it to Caleb, but he’d argued against Nott even considering it. In the end, with Molly, Jester and Fjord to back her up, Caleb had agreed, if only because he was so completely outnumbered. All arguing would have done was waste time he figured would be better spent sleeping, so that they were prepared the next day to be on their game. And so he’d let it go. It was to happen in broad daylight. That was the key. Less people milling about to notice them, less suspicion that something might be up. It would all fall into place as long as everything went exactly according to plan.

Of course, nothing ever went according to plan.

From the temple’s open window, Caleb could hear Molly’s voice projecting over the crowd, his jaunty, rakish crowing as he performed his tricks, while, from the interior of the temple, the soft chanting of prayers filtered beneath the closed and barred door.

In his head, Caleb counted down the minutes as Nott worked on the lockbox.

A snapping shattered the silence.

“Fuck. Sorry, Cay, I think I’m going to need magic on this one.”

The chill breeze buffeted the curtains and Caleb pulled his coat more tightly around himself before sticking a wavering hand out from his sleeve, thrilled with anticipation. Using magic in Rexxentrum under everyone else’s noses always came with some small degree of satisfaction. With some difficulty, he whispered the arcane words and watched as the lock flared with a blue glow. Though a few other things in the room glowed (and if Nott was eyeing a variety of things, Caleb wasn’t about to stop her) only the lockbox interested Caleb.

“You are right,” he murmured. “Half a moment, bitte.” With another motion and a different set of arcane words, he pushed his hand forward and the blue glow dissipated into the ether. “There. Now you can work your own magic, Schatz.”

She worked with her tongue sticking out between her teeth, which worried at the silver ball piercing she had through the tip. Three soft clicks and the lock hitched. Deftly, Nott checked the box for traps, found none and opened the lid.

There, inside was the scroll.

“You read, Cay, and I’ll keep watch. Go.”

The papers unrolled with ease, the parchment so new it was still waxy and smelled of rich, black ink, the brand he had delivered in from Marquet.

Caleb read:

_Prelate Qiulen,_

_It is my understanding that, for this year’s celebration of the day of Our Lord Bahamut, the Great Platinum Dragon, you will be heading the physical arrangements. As it is customary, I have provided to you, via my faithful courier, these documents which contain that plans for the Embertide celebration in this, our 835 year post divergence._

_Enclosed you will find the preapproved time schedule, the event schedule, and the suggested seating chart among other things._

_Please provide your own suggestions to be finalized that we might begin to prepare the Guard and the populous for this day of great celebration._

_May He protect all of our Just ideals,_

_Trent Ikithon – Archmage of Civil Influence._

Rapidly, eye scanning the documents as fast as he was able, Caleb flipped through the pages, taking note of the layout and, in addition,  any changes the Priestess had made. It was easy enough – for Caleb still knew Ikithon quite well – to determine which he would accept and which he would reject.

It was with great interest, however, that Caleb scanned the day’s time schedule…

“What are you doing, you damned-“

The door suddenly shuddered against the jamb, a muffle voice from the temple proper calling for a key. Heart racing, Caleb scanned the document one last time, storing it for the time being in his head, before wrapping everything up the ways he’d found it and putting it back in the lockbox. A rhythmic tapping, in a most familiar pattern sounded against the window sill.

“Let’s go!” Nott hissed under her breath, but Caleb was busy digging through his pockets for a phial, hoping praying…

The door rattled again, the sound of keys jingling on the other side, a few disgruntled voices. Caleb pulled out the phial with a soundless triumphant gasp, only to uncork it and find it empty.

“Nein.” He breathed, shaking his head. “Nein.”

Someone shoved at the door. A shout came from the interior. Nott rapped again.

“Nein, nein, nein…”

Left with no other choice, Caleb shut the box and clambered out the window, the tattered end of his scarf just disappearing around the corner of the window as the door was battered open, wood splintering in a loud crack behind him. But Caleb was already safely to the front of the temple, Nott at his side, hood pulled up as they made their way towards the crowd Molly had amassed.

“We need to make scarce and quickly, Nottchen. I did not have the components to relock the box with magic. They will know, Nott, and they will be looking for us.”

Furiously she nodded. “Okay. You get to Jester’s. I’ll get Molly, alright?”

“Nott, I-“

“Go, Caleb.” She gave him a little push, surreptitiously pulling out her wire as she did. Small as she was, hidden between the legs of the crowd and hidden by her hood, Nott cast message at Molly. Whatever she said, Caleb noted his single moment of hesitation, a moment when he wavered, and then watched as Molly’s eye found a focal point behind them. Instinctually, against his better judgement, Caleb turned.

The Priestess and three of her acolytes were headed directly for him.

“You-!” She called out, just as he side stepped his way into the crowd, melding in as though it were nothing, but it was already too late. The Crownsguard were drawing their swords, the soft slide of metal on leather sure to be the last thing Caleb ever heard, when a gasp went up from the crowd.

Molly, balance lost, holding both of his glass swords, though the dagger clattered against the ground, was bleeding from a slice across his neck, while the blades glowed a brilliant white light.

“MAGIC! MAGIC USER!” A single person called out, pointing a gnarled finger.

It was over. Everything was over.

And then, Molly caught his balance, jumped off the bench and into the crowd, ducking and dodging out of the way as the Crownsgaurds’ attention turned to him from Caleb, though the Prelate remained behind him, fighting against the swarming tide of the crowd, pushing forward trying to surround Molly as he ran like the wind, coat streaming out behind him.

The din rose as the chaos grew. Caleb felt Nott grab his leg before hoisting herself up into his arms, so she could watch behind as he pushed his way through the crowd is the direction opposite that which he needed to go.

“They’re still following, Cay,” she whispered.

Caleb craned his neck. Only the tails of Molly’s coat could be see, just rounding a corner.

_He will be alright. He can take care of himself. Go. You have only ever cared for yourself and Nott. Why should you start caring about anyone else now._

“Duck, Cay!”

Caleb ducked.

Down on his knees, Nott still on his back, Caleb crawled on all fours through the muck as the people around him kicked and tripped over him. Brutal though it was, he came out the other side of the crowd in a dark alley, covered in muck and shit, bruised and breathing hard, but alive. From the shadows they watched as the Prelate and her acolytes followed the flow of the crowd, still calling for retribution.

Caleb sagged up against the wall, breathing hard. There was a soft sound from behind him. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what it was, but then, he started to feel the seeping of wet drops on his cheek.

“Nott? Are you alright?” he asked, unable to keep the worry from his tone.

Nott sniffed through her tears. “Molly’s going to die because of us, Caleb. I never should have said a word. He’s going to be captured and put into prison and they’re going to kill him like they were going to kill me and it will be all my fault.”

“Oh, Nott,” Caleb putt of a hand and helped her down from his back. She threw her arms around him, sobbing softly. “No, it is not your fault. It is not your fault.” He steeled himself. “There is nothing we can do about it now. Let’s go back to Jester’s. All we can do is hope for the best.”

“We can’t. We have to go get him. Caleb, we _have_ to!”

Caleb hesitated. Nott’s fingers dug hard into his shoulders.

_If he dies, his blood be on your hands, Widogast. And no one else’s._

_If he dies, it will be because of you._

* * *

 

Muscles burning in his legs, Molly sprinted through the street towards the market where people were still milling about unawares as the Crownsguard dashed after him, impeded by the throngs moving in the opposite direction. Vaulting over a section of low stone wall, Molly frantically pulled his cloak around him, and threw the hood over his head, ducking low and staying still. A rattling gasp pushed past his lips, so he slapped his hand down over his mouth and waited.

The jingle of mail shirts, buckles, and sheath chains clattered amidst the rhythmic thumping of feet as the guards ran past his hiding spot.

Heavily, Molly breathed in and out through his nose until the sound faded and all that was left was the gentle humming of the mingling crowd. He leaned his head back against the stone wall, black and white spots dotting his vision like sparks. He knew now, what was coming; as his vision faded, his hand fell away from his mouth and into his lap, and his eyes fluttered shut.

_“Nonagon!”_

_The piercing scream rent the night, but Lucien didn’t stop, his damaged and melting wings fluttering as fast as they were able as he zipped through the town. A glance over his shoulder-_

_The buffeting sound of flame against wind, the pale orange glow, multiplied by the tens and they advanced on him, bearing out their torches like swords. With a smack, he hit a wall, turning back too late to avoid it and crumpled to the ground. One man, dressed in white raiment and silver plated armor sneered down at him._

_“Let this be a lesson to your hedonistic, cruel mistress that she is not welcome here.”_

_The open flame drew nearer. Lucien felt his wings drip away to nothing, the frost of his clothes beading  droplets of water along his unhealthily flushed skin. He pulled back, but there was no where to go, trapped with the wall behind him and the circle of torchbearers around him. When the man brought the torch down low, so close he could almost feel it caress his cheek, his breath caught, his eyes going wide, trained on the flickering demon. In fear, he turned his face away as far as it would go. The circle closed in, their torches together an unmanageable heat. He felt it as the skin of his cheek began to flake off into cinders and his breaths came short and stilted._

_“Fire is your bane. Your mistress has no power here and never will again.”_

_Weakly, Lucien looked up to the sky, to the moons, but the smoke hid them from view._

_“Be gone from us, Frost Sprite, and let your ruination of our crop and your malicious deeds plague this land no more.”_

_From trembling, dry lips, Lucien managed a single word in prayer._

_“Moonweaver-“_

 

 _Smack_.

Molly jolted out of the memory to Caleb’s rough palm on his cheek. Slapping it away, Molly felt the skin there in a panic, smooth and whole, not even bothering to check to see if Caleb looked concerned for him or not.  

“Komm mit.” Caleb gritted out as he hauled Molly to his feet. “We don’t have time for this, right now. They are still after you, for your flashy magical nonsense and I am fairly certain I have been made besides.”

Ignoring the bitter sting of Caleb’s words, Molly followed him into the alleyway, where Nott was waiting.

“Coast’s clear. Come _on_ , let’s go.”

They didn’t rush; Caleb kept a hand on Molly’s arm as he led them at a sedate pace through the winding alleyways until the came around to the next gate.

“Act as though we belong, we will be fine,” Caleb whispered in his ear before starting off once more.

Molly swallowed a few times, but his mouth was too dry and his head too foggy still from the…from what had happened, and it was all he could do to properly stumble along after his friends. By some miracle, they weren’t bothered. Perhaps it was because they’d run in the opposite direction to begin with; regardless, it didn’t matter. The second tier was quieter only in relation to the fact that there hadn’t been any shenanigans there, but Molly kept a firm grip on his hood and his tail curled tightly around his thigh. For the first time since Nott had called him purple, Molly understood what they’d meant about him being a danger. He was a blinding, blaring flashing light in the deepest darkest part of the evening. _Come arrest me_ , his very being seemed to say. _I’m right here._

Hissing in a language that seemed natural to him, Molly cursed the city, and tried not to feel stupid. Some soft voice, familiar in cadence, seemed to whisper back. _Oh my sweet one…_ Plaintive, it faded away, as though it never had been and Molly but it aside for later, along with the flashes of memory, more strongly pervasive than any previous. He remembered it in full colour, in bright, terribly detail. Shuddering, he could still feel his skin peeling away on his cheek, could still hear the voice of the man, jeering at him.

Molly blinked hard, until his vision blacked out, if only temporarily, and a high pitched keen filled his ears over the buzz of the milling crowd. Caleb’s firm hand on his upper shoulder didn’t lessen; like a tether, Molly followed it implicitly, helplessly, and for a moment – only a moment – he resented himself for it.

When he opened his eyes, Caleb was pushing him into the Traveller’s Way unceremoniously, the rush of heat hitting his face in sharp contrast to the push-pull of the wind buffeting around him. The door shut with a dull thud and there was silence.

“We are fucked, now. Come on, let’s go, and hope that no one saw us enter here.”

Up, up the stairs, through the door, which was shut with infinitely more care than the exterior door had been. Nott slid down to the floor, her back to the door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caleb, have we got to leave again?”

“It may be for the best. Probably. Especially now that we brought this one with us.”

“We had to, Caleb, I told you-“

The words were poison to Molly’s ears. “Excuse me? What is ‘this one’ supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I say!” Caleb rounded on him, jabbing a finger in the direction of his chest. “You are going to get us killed. I knew it from the beginning. I should have left you in the third tier. I should have left you with Nila. I should have left you where I found you in the snow. It would have been better that way. For all of us.”

“Caleb!” Nott’s eyes were wide, her mouth agape in astonishment. “How can you even s-“

“I understand you perfectly well, Mister Caleb.” Molly cut her off. His words were sharp, glaring knives designed to cut smooth and precise, the set of his jaw firm, eyes chilly with cold understanding. “I am so terribly sorry for how inconvenient I’ve been to you. How my very existence is a bane on yours. That’s fine. At least I finally understand. You’re just as bad as the Crownsguard. You don’t have to order me away,” his voice rang out in the dead silence of the room, Caleb watching him with something surprisingly akin to fear. “I’m leaving. I’m going to go find that Mister Clay and I’m going to get my memories back, and then I won’t need you either.” He walked to the door and looked down on Nott. “Pardon me, dear.”

Without a word, she scrambled away.

“Mollymau-“ Caleb started to say, but Molly was already closing the door behind him, and headed down the hall. Away from Caleb. Away from Rexxentrum.


	9. 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special Molly centric chapter! I waited to write this for /so/ long and now I can finally share it with all of you! I hope you are looking forward to old friends and new, as they will be revealed in this chapter!

8.

_Dusk fell_

_and the cold came creeping,_

_came prickling into our hearts._

_As we tucked beaks_

_into feathers and settled for sleep,_

_our wings knew._

 

_That night, we dreamed the journey:_

_ice-blue sky and the yodel of flight,_

_the sun's pale wafer,_

_the crisp drink of clouds._

_We dreamed ourselves so far aloft_

_that the earth curved beneath us_

_and nothing sang but_

_a whistling vee of light._

 

_When we woke, we were covered with snow._

_We rose in a billow of white._

 

~  Joyce Sidman _, Winter Bees & Other Poems of the Cold_

_“It is growing cold. Winter is putting footsteps in the meadow. What whiteness boasts that sun that comes into this wood! One would say milk-colored maidens are dancing on the petals of orchids. How coldly burns our sun! One would say its rays of light are shards of snow, one imagines the sun lives upon a snow crested peak on this day. One would say she is a woman who wears a gown of winter frost that blinds the eyes. Helplessness has weakened me. Wandering has wearied my legs.”_

_~  Roman Payne_

 

**17th of Cursaar**

 

Dawn.

The breaking rose blush of the morn was met by veins of cool lavender and saffron lined clouds, the sun a King rising from his throne. Across Molly’s face the subtle warmth traced its intangible fingers in the softest caress. Night fled in the Morning Emperor’s wake, but it could not chase the dark thoughts from Molly’s mind.

“You don’t need Caleb,” he reminded himself not for the first times since the previous day. “You don’t need him and he didn’t want you.” The mantra, which had fueled him through the night’s travel, was starting to have less and less effect. The last moment, when Caleb had called out his name with such complete and utter regret, invaded its route recitation more frequently as the night had worn on. Now, by the burgeoning light of day, its power was almost extinguished. All Molly felt was tired.

He’d walked the whole night through, disregarding his sore feet, following easily the path that Caleb had taken them on, once he’d crossed the bridge at the first strains of pre-dawn. He’d slipped onto the back of a cart and laid down amongst the goods there to hide from the guards, and, covered over in Caleb’s weather proofed cloak as he’d been, they took no notice of him whatsoever. Once the cart had rounded the very next hill, out of the sightline of the guards, he’d hopped off and continued walking in the direction where it was said that Caduceus Clay was supposedly encamped.

Of course, that had been a week prior, and Molly considered fearfully, only now that the morning’s first light illuminated the vast empty expanse of the diamond-strewn tundra of the northern lands, that the healer may have moved on, leaving Molly on a fool's errand.

But he couldn’t go back.

He trudged on.

For hours, he came across nothing and no one. Not even a bird circles the skies, which had cleared to a chilly blue; the suns rays were bereft of warmth and Molly pulled his hood closer, though it bothered him less than he anticipated.

Perhaps it was because he had so much to think about.

In the heat of the moment, suggesting he leave to recover his memories had seemed like a good thing. Shaken as he was by the most recent breaking memory, adrenalin flooding his system from being chased, he’d put aside for just that moment the absolute terror within which he’d nearly drowned reliving his- reliving the other person’s near execution.

Molly stopped for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. The cold air lined his lungs like lead, leaving his breaths shallower than he’d hoped, but he looked up to the sky anyways, scanning for the pale memory of the moons.

When he caught sight of the two crescents, he dropped to his knees.

“Moonweaver! I don’t know who you are, or if you’re really out there, but I need guidance. _He_ prayed to you in his moment of dire need, and right now, I’m lost. I don’t really want my memories back. Why would I want to remember such terrible things? Why are all my memories of death? Of falling? Why are they so ominous? I don’t know what happened to me, but I don’t want any of that. And these powers. I don’t understand them either. Are they part of me, or of _him?_ I want a chance to be me! Without _him_ , without Caleb. Just me. I want to know who _I_ am. Please, if you’re a deity, or some other grander power, please, please give me that chance. Please show me the way.”

A soft wind blew over the tundra, whipping up the soft, downy covering of snow into whorls of unknowable design.  They trailed over the nearest hill, blown downwards, and Molly rose to his feet, quickly following. As he crested the knoll, he noticed, barely a speck in the distance, a dark smattering of trees dotting a low valley.

Setting his jaw, he nodded once, firmly, before looking back up to the ghosts of the moons.

“Thank you,” he said, and started off once more.

The day passed by slowly. Molly found himself missing Nott’s banter; their back and forth had kept his spirits up over the weeks, and, even when her wit could be scathing, she had always been kind. Even to the last, admonishing Caleb, over whom he’d watched her dote constantly, in favour of defending Molly.

And he’d left her behind without so much as a goodbye.

The first night was the worst.

Shivering, Molly dug himself a hole in the snow on the side of a hill, tucking himself in and under, using Caleb’s cloak to shelter himself from the worst of the wet and cold. Even when he closed his eyes, he was alone. The darkness couldn’t hide that fact from him, no matter how much he wanted it to. Wonderment at the stars even seemed dim without company to share it with (and even then, all molly could think of was the constellations of Caleb’s _Sommersprossen_ , over which he still longed to trace his finger, connecting the delicate stars across the paleness of Caleb’s face. Caleb, who could be so kind and so cruel all at once.).

Hasty. He’d been too hasty, and now he was alone in the cold, and the only voice he heard was the howling of the wind.

The days passed. Two more risings of the sun came and went before Molly reached the woods on the fourth morn since his departure. A bird – the first other living creature he’d seen since leaving the road – soared overhead. It was large, and its cry tore sharply through the air, but it comforted Molly to know that, even if Nott and Caleb were somewhere lost in the labyrinth of the city, he, Molly was not wholly alone in the wilderness.

Without fear, he stepped beyond the tree boundary and into the forest.

Life, considering the season, teemed within. Occasionally, under the thick brush and snow piled skeletons of foliage, a rodent scurried or a bunny hopped. Since he’d left, Molly’d subsisted almost entirely on the store of dried meats and bark that Caleb and Nott had given him. Though he’d more than once had hunger pangs to accompany him through the night, he’d rationed it well enough, but the forest meant possibility. Thought he didn’t have Nott’s crossbow, or Caleb’s fire, there was surely a way that, if he couldn’t find the enigmatic healer, he’d be able to survive long enough to make his way up to Nila’s or…

 _Or back to the city_ , a little voice in his head supplied. Forcefully, he pushed it away.

“No. Not back to the city. Not yet. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

 _Liar_.

That whisper, he didn’t contest, for he knew it to be true.

Sighing, Molly looked up to the pocket of blue that peeked beneath the towering pines. “Moonweaver,” He prayed. “you’ve led me this far. Please, lead me where I need to go.”

Only the shivering of the wind through the branches came to him by way of answer.

After a while, his fears and questions fled as he grew enamored with his new surroundings. The last time he’d been in a forest, it had been covered entirely by snow, and Caleb led a grueling pace, so he’d had little time, or care, to enjoy it. But now, surrounded by the majesty of the pines, Molly breathed deeply their scent, put his hands to the rough texture of their back, poked gingerly at their long, deep green needles in wonder.  

It was darker inside the forest, easier on his eyes, and the headache he’d accrued from squinting in the blinding glare softened and dissipated the deeper he wound his way between the trees and away from the still, silent world.

When it was getting on towards midday, Molly sat himself down on a log, gnawing at a shaved piece of dried meat while picking idly at the hem of the cloak. He closed his eyes, remembering Caleb’s insistence that Molly take it that day, how he’d forced him to put it on, almost with a degree of fury in his eyes. Still, Molly didn’t understand why. Why would Caleb want him to take the cloak, if he meant to send him off that day, and never see him again?

Why had he cared at all?

_I should have left you where I found you in the snow. It would have been better that way. For all of us._

A small, furry creature, with a big bushy tail, grey and white, yet with a hit of red in the undercoat, just the same as Caleb’s hair, chattered at him from a tree before scurrying down to dart back and forth near his feet rapidly. It settled, not far from him, on a fallen branch, and cocked it’s head, a nut between its tiny paws.

“I know you didn’t mean what you said,” Molly said, looking down at the creature, as if it were Caleb. “But that doesn’t excuse you for having said it, or even for acting the way you did. I know now that Nott was warning me, and I didn’t listen. You’re just so beautiful, Caleb, and sometimes so kind, and I didn’t want to believe her. I didn’t want to believe her that you could be so cruel. I just wanted you to see me the way I saw you. You saved me, you kept with me you, you have me your clothes and your food and your cloak. I wanted you to care for me. I thought I could make you care, if I was useful to you. If I helped you. I thought you did care. Maybe you do, but you’re not ready. Your head is so full of darkness and anger. I’m not sure there’s room for anything else right now. I hope…” he sighed, looking away from the little creature, as it nibbled at the nut without care for his words. Molly picked up a stick, dragging it in random patterns through the dirt. “I hope we do see one another again. And, if we do, I’ll still help you, but not because I want you to need me. It will be because I want to help you. And that’s all. That’s all, Caleb. I promise. I promise. I won’t ask anything of you that you’re not ready for. And I won’t keep my hopes up. I’ll just…just…”

Molly tossed the stick into the underbrush and the little creature darted away, startled.

“I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Well that’s quite a predicament to find yourself in. Not knowing what to do.”

Tables suddenly turned, it was Molly startling and whirling on the low voice from behind him, hands clutching at the glass sabers hanging off his hips.

The figure before him was taller than any Molly had seen before – including Nila. Wrapped in a great red cloak lined with white wool, with a robin on his shoulder and another settled atop the crystal that adorned his staff, stood a very pink Firbolg. One side of his head was shaved, but the hair on the opposite side was so long and waved that it tumbled down over his shoulders and back, coming to cradle in the hood that was laid out of his shoulders. Beneath his cloak, he wore a loose cream shirt, one long sleeve draping nearly down to his knee.  Over the shirt a series of teal clothes, similar in colour and pattern to his billowing pants, were wrapped and on his feet he wore supple leather boots that hugged his calves. Long, soft ears twitched just momentarily as a dollop of snow fell from a branch, landing nearby.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, there.” He said, deep tone rumbling through his chest. “I’m Caduceus Clay. Would you like some tea? I’m camped just up the ridge.”

“You’re Caduceus Clay?” Molly asked, still a little shocked.

“Yeah. Mister Clay. That’s me.” He nodded his head. “Uh, sorry, but, who are you?”

“I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf. Molly to my friends.”

A slow, genial smile spread across Caduceus’s face, and he read up an enormous hand to his pink beard, rubbing thoughtfully. “Nice to meet you, Mister Tealeaf.”

“Molly’s fine.” Molly said, unthinkingly, but much to his surprise, the firbolg’s smile widened further.

“Oh. That’s nice. It’s good to have a friend,” he said in such a way that Molly grew just a tad concerned. There was a moment of silence when Molly wasn’t exactly sure what to say in response, simply looking at Caduceus Clay, while Caduceus Clay looked back at him before taking a very deliberate breath. “Well,” the firbolg said, blinking long, dark lashes.

“Well what?”

“What?”

“You said…” Molly shook his head as the expectant look on Caduceus Clay’s face. “Nevermind. Tea? There’s Tea? Tea’s in my name, you know, and I do quite like it.”

“Oh! Good! If we leave now, we’ll make if before dark, Molly.”  

Molly stood, brushing himself off. “Excellent. Then let’s be off, Mister Clay.”

Despite Caduceus’s size, he was fairly graceful, stepping carefully through the woods, avoiding felled trees and large rocks with an ease that Molly only wished he could have for himself. Occasionally, the mysterious healer would pause and hum, a rumble that sounded like it emanated at the base of his throat, and his ears would twitch. Molly watched him completely enthralled. Caduceus was so very different from Nila; where her mannerisms had been just as soft and gentle, this strange healer was a bit odd, but Molly liked him anyways.

When the ground began to incline, Caduceus stopped, threaded his fingers together in front of his chest and began to tap his thumbs on his chest rhythmically for a few moments.

“Is everything alright?” He waited a beat. “Mister Clay?”

“What? Hmm?” He turned. “Oh, Molly! Yes, everything is fine. I was just listening to the Trees. They like you a lot. Do you know them?”

Owlishly, Molly blinked. “No. I don’t know the trees,” he said. “but I’d like to! Can you introduce me?”

“Oh, I think they’d like that! Just say ‘Hello Trees!’”

“Hello Trees!” Molly exclaimed, beaming. “What are they saying?”

Caduceus put one large, long fingered hand against the bark. “They say that they miss your artistry. You used to dress them beautifully.”

“Oh.” Molly worried his lip, crestfallen. “Tell them I’m afraid that they’ve got me confused with someone else, but that I think they’re beautiful as they are, too.”

Caduceus rubbed his thumb on the bark and then turned back to Molly, a tender, aching look on his face. “They understand.”

 Somehow, Molly felt that he was missing something, but its mystery was beyond him to ascertain, just like the light in Caleb’s eyes that night when they’d huddle close, when the mage had curled up around him, clung to him in his sleep the way he never would have had he been conscious. Molly sighed. Caduceus seemed to pick up on it, but said nothing, instead choosing to forge ahead.

Not far up the ridge, they came to a small clearing, settled with two decently sized logs set adjacent to one another and a kettle set up on a little tripod in the space between them.

“Were you expecting me?” Molly queried, carefully watching his companion for any sign of…of…any sign.

“The Mother told me someone might be along,” Caduceus replied matter of factly, shrugging. “She always knows when someone might need me.”

“The Mother?”

A genuine smile brightened Caduceus’s features as he bent down to the kettle, holding his staff horizontally. He tapped the kettle twice with the amethyst that topped the staff, and then nodded, seemingly satisfied, and laid the staff down beneath the kettle. “Yes. The Wildmother. My goddess.”

Still watching Caduceus as he worked, now rummaging through a small leather pouch on his belt, Molly thought of the voice, the soft, feminine voice, whispering to him, reassuring him. “She talks to you?”

He nodded again. “Oh yes. All the time. I may not have lots of company, besides the trees and the animals, but I always have Her.”

“Is She in the moons?”

“No, that’s more the Moonweaver’s place.”

“Right. I know the Moonweaver.” Molly said, before he fully realized it, backtracking. “Well, at least, I think I do. There’s a lot I think but don’t know…I think.”

“Well, like I said earlier, it’s quite a predicament you’re in, not knowing what to do. But I find, generally, if you wait long enough, the answer comes to you.” He settled down on the other log and held out a hand. “Tea. Perfect way to wait.”

Molly took the empty cup in his hands and watched as Caduceus knelt before the now boiling kettle. There were leaves in his hand, dry and crumbling, but of a sweet aroma.

“You have magic?!” He looked closer, excited.

“Another gift of the Mother. It’s Her power, I’m just lent it for the time being. Cup?”

Molly held it out and watched as Caduceus poured the light amber liquid into his teacup. Like everything, it seemed, the colour reminded him of Caleb. Settling it under his nose, he breathed in more deeply than he’d been able to do for days, enjoying the way the steam curled in the air, rising over his face. Calmed, and not quite so lonely, for the eccentric friend he’d just made, Molly managed a weak smile.

“Thank you.”

“This one’s a Filiran. Pretty old. Lots of jasmine. Good for the soul. They were in the jeweling trade, I think.” Caduceus scratched at his beard as he sat, his own steaming cup in hand. “Always makes good leaves. Very calming. Introspective.”

Blinking rapidly, Molly took in everything he’d just heard. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand all of what you just said, but I do feel calm, thank you. I wasn’t earlier, but I am now.”

“Well that’s good. That you feel better now, I mean. I like it when my friends are happy.”  

“I don’t believe I said, Mister Clay, but I was actually looking for you. You see, I met Nila up northwards just a few days walk from here, and she said that you might be able to help me?” Molly asked, settling his cup back in his lap, hands cupped around it for searing warmth. “She said that you’re a healer. Actually, she said you were a nomadic hermit, and while I’m starting to understand what she mean, I’ll admit, I’m still rather curious.”

“Nila is very nice. I like other firbolgs! She and her family are the first I’ve met in quite some time.”

Molly was starting to get the impression that quite some time may have been an understatement, but he didn’t say anything.

Not much else happened that night. They shared a little bit of food, though what it was, Caduceus didn’t say and neither did Molly ask. The sounds of the forest changed the later it grew, and his firbolg friend set a real fire crackling in a safe ring of rocks between them. Dusk came on quickly. Before Molly knew it, he was falling asleep, leaned up against the log, his belly warmed by tea and thoughts soothed by the occasional soft commentary from Caduceus Clay about the birds, the trees, a clump of berries or a cluster of fungi. Though his new companion wasn’t much of a conversationalist, Molly liked him immensely. After Caleb’s driven, unrelenting demeanor, it was a much needed change. Yet, as darkness fell, he couldn’t help but wish that Caleb was there beside him, resting truly peacefully, vengeful thoughts put to rest once and for all.

 _Maybe. Just maybe_ , Molly thought wistfully.

Someday.

 

“Who is Caleb?” Caduceus asked the next morning over a handful of winter berries and another cup of tea. Molly choked a little on the hit liquid, more for the question than anything else.

“Caleb? Caleb is...how do you know about Caleb?”

“You were talking about him...or to him. I don't think he was really the squirrel but I could be wrong.”

“Oh.” Molly took a careful sip of tea. “You heard all that. I wasn't sure.”

Caduceus shrugged. “My apologies. It seemed like it's been on your mind. Thought maybe you needed to talk about it. But you don't have to if you don't want to.”

Molly lowered the cup from his lips. “It's a long story.” He grimaced. “Sort of. You see, I've only been around about oh… twenty days? I don't have any memory before that. And that's why I'm here, actually. Because I don't have any memory from before that.”

“Oh. Well.” Caduceus’s eyes were actually gone wide and Molly could see, interestingly enough, that his pupils were slanted horizontally and his eyes matched his hair. “Welcome to the world, I suppose.”

“Thanks. It's been nine hells of a life so far, let me tell you. But you asked about Caleb.” Molly resituated himself. “Caleb found me. Caleb saved my life.”

“Doesn't seem like he appreciated you much.”

Molly sighed. It felt like all he’d done lately was sigh. “No, I suppose he didn’t. But I was foolish, and I didn’t listen to the warnings I was given. It’s just that he’s…well, I don’t know, rightly why. Yes, he saved me, and _yes_ , he’s handsome, but there was always something more. Something special. And every once in a while, it was like he forgot to be angry all the time, and I guess that’s why I had hope. Because he has _such_ capacity for gentleness and kindness. The way he is was with Asar, how he comforted him without looking for anything back. And his relationship with Nott, how they’re always so careful with one another, considerate. They’d do anything for one another. I saw that, and I wanted it…” He laughed wearily, paused, and glanced surreptitiously at Caduceus, whose face was about as blank as always. “I must sound ridiculous. He said some terrible things to me, and I could see on his face afterword that he was genuinely regretful, and that he was just scared – all of us were scared – but I still left. I think I needed to leave, whether he had said those things or not. Whether he treated me as he did, or if he’d treated me like he treats Nott. I’ve been here twenty days and everything in my life, until now, has been about Caleb and his mission. And that just doesn’t feel right. I want to support him. I care about him, but I can’t excuse what he did.”

That time, when Molly looked to his new friend, he did so openly, and waited.

Caduceus hummed, low and thoughtful. “Well. Seems to me like you have things figured on that front. Sometimes, all you need is someone to listen. But what you haven’t said is why you’re here, really. If it’s not about your Caleb, then what is it about?”

Molly almost bristled, but there was no accusation in Caduceus’s voice, only gentle understanding. “My memories. It’s about my memories. I said I was leaving to get them back, but I—” Molly sucked in a breath, cutting himself off in the process.

“You’re not sure if you really want them back, or if it was just something you said in the moment.”

“Mister Clay, I’m not sure if you’re just really intuitive or if I’m just that transparent.”

Caduceus’s brow drew in and he looked hard at Molly. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re not transparent.  I can see you sitting right there.”

Gods help him, Molly tried so hard not to laugh. “Clay, you’re all right. You’re all right.”

A goofy half grin slid slowly into place across pleasant features. “Oh, thanks! That’s awfully nice of you.”

Molly sat up, moving to the still bubbling kettle and helped himself to another cup. “So, you know about me, but what about you? Why’re you all alone out here? Nila said that something was wrong with your home, that you used to be a hermetic priest or something and now you’re roaming around.”

Caduceus chewed seriously on his berry. “Yes. My home was overrun by a darkness that I seek to destroy. The Mother has guided me this far. Every step of the way, I know that I am on the path She wants for me. Nila and her family were a part of that. You’re part of that. My job has been to help people for a long, long time, and someday, somewhere, I’ll meet the people who are meant to help me. I trust that She is guiding me true, and one day, my home will be saved, and maybe my family will come home.”

“You have a family?” Molly asked, rapt with attention. “Where are they? Where did they go? Did they just leave you? Why would they do that? Why would-“

“They left for the same reasons I did.” Caduceus placated him gently. “That’s why I hope I can save my home. If the problem is solved, then they won’t need to look for answers anymore.”

“Oh.” Molly settled back. “I’m sorry. I hope you see them again too.” He thought about the past few, lonely nights without Caleb and Nott. “I’m sorry you’ve been alone. How long as it been since you saw your family last?”

Once more, Caduceus’s screwed up his face tight. “Oh…about eighty seasonal cycles.”

Molly chewed on his lip, realizing only too late that he didn’t have the context to know what Caduceus meant. “Right.” He put his cup down on the log beside him, and slapped his hands to his thighs. “Well I you don’t have to go too many more seasons before everything is fixed. I’m sure they miss you just as much as you miss them.”

Amusingly – or perhaps not to amusingly – Caduceus looked skeptical, but his eyes softened. “Yes. Hopefully.”

“In the meantime, I hope you don’t mind a bit of company?” Molly asked as he stood up, stretching out his stiff muscles from the night before. “I’m not…well, I mean I came here looking for you, and now I’ve found you!”

“Don’t you worry,” Caduceus replied. “I like company.”

Molly quickly discovered, as he and Caduceus traversed the woods together, that he chattered more than enough for the both of them. While the healer occasionally contributed with genial ease to the conversation, Molly carried on overtly one sided; if Caduceus sometimes blinked emptily, like he was returning from someplace else and asked Molly to repeat himself, Molly didn’t mind at all. It was endearingly sweet, and Molly found himself slipping into a familiar, rambling style of speaking, unconcerned by anything that Caduceus might say in return. It was freeing, and it kept his memories and Caleb off of his mind, allowing him instead to focus on the magnificence of the natural world.

Strangely, he felt more comfortable around it than he had within the grand city of Rexxentrum. As fascinating as the center of civilization (if it could be called that, that is) had been for him, the stillness of the wild world was something far more familiar, so much that the call of it ached in his bones. Occasionally, he’d leap over a log, or twirl until a gentle fall of snowflakes, brushed from their branches by the wind’s gentle caress.

Caduceus was watching him. He hadn’t missed the strange, knowing looks, and something about the way Caduceus had talked about the trees niggled in the back of Molly’s head, but he chose, freely, to ignore it and simply enjoy himself instead.

He wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready.

It seemed, however, that Caduceus wasn’t going to let him get away with simply never being ready. The next day was greyer than the last, but warmer, as a result, and more often than not, Molly felt Caduceus’s eyes on him, though, whenever he turned to look, the firbolg seemed to be contently staring off into the distance.

Around midday, the stopped their wandering in order to have something to eat, when Molly noticed that something was off.

“Caduceus?” he asked, turning a complete three-sixty as he looked at the woods around them.

“Yes?”

“Are we going in circles? I _swear_ we’ve been here before.”

As if it were nothing, Caduceus nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, not the least bit perturbed. Molly only gaped at him. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Um, well, we’re _going in circles_. That’s what’s wrong with it!” Molly exclaimed. “Aren’t you travelling somewhere?”

Caduceus only shrugged. “Well, the way I see it, there’s no point in going anywhere until you’ve decided what you’re going to do. And walking is a nice pastime. So I took us in circles. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind?” Molly spluttered. “I- well-“ He threw himself back against a tree. “You’re going to take us in circles until I make up my mind?”

“That was my intention, yeah.”

Molly crossed his arms. “Fine. Fine, alright. Let’s hash it out then. I know you’ve been waiting for me to say something all day long. Regardless of what I do, I’m probably going back to Rexxentrum. If I get my memories back, it will probably make life easier all around. I’ll be my own person again, but that person won’t be me anymore. And that terrifies me. I’ve only just become _me_! I can’t lose that!” He ran his hands over his face and up through his hair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Hey,” Caduceus’s large hand landed on his shoulder. Molly looked up and into his eyes, and it was as though the firbolg was seeing right into his soul. “Just because you’ll remember who you were before, doesn’t mean that you have to be that person again. You have more than one choice, and no one will judge you for the choice you make. Only you know what’s right for you. Whatever you decide, be honest with yourself about why you want it. Want it for you, not for Caleb or, uh, Nott. Want it for _you_ , Mollymauk Tealeaf, and no one else.”

_What do you want, Mollymauk Tealeaf?_

Molly thought of the terrors of his half memories, of being burned, of falling through nothingness, thought of waking up, frightened at first, and then, not so alone, thought of the magic in his blood, magic he didn’t understand or know how to control. He thought of the way he could always find his way on the open tundra, and how achingly _beautiful_ the winter was, thought of how the trees seemed to know him. And he thought of the mysterious goddess whose voice he heard in the back of his head, of the comfort that came from looking up to the moons at night when everything else seemed hopeless. Whatever was in the past, it couldn’t be all bad. And Caduceus was right. He still had a choice.

_What do you want, Mollymauk Tealeaf?_

“Alright,” he said, his voice shaking just a little. “Alright, I’ll do it. But tomorrow. Just one more night. Let me have one more night. And then, I’ll do it.” Molly added again, with a little bit more determination. “It’s what’s best for me. It’s what I want. Not because of Caleb. Because of me.”

“Okay.” Caduceus agreed. “One more night.”

Molly hugged himself tightly, rubbing his hands up and down his upper arms until he realized what he was doing and stopped short.

A soft, tender look flitted over Caduceus’s face. “It’s okay to still be afraid.”

That was all it took. With a sob, Molly pitched forward, his head hitting Caduceus’s chest as he cried. The firbolg drew him into a warm embrace and they stayed like that for far too long, Molly’s legs growing cramped and his face cold with the damp from his tears. Exhausted, he let Caduceus maneuver him until they were sitting together up against the tree. Against his back, Molly could feel the rumbling of Caduceus’s breath in his chest, felt the warmth seep into him slowly, relaxing. Through the black shadows of the trees in all their enormous height, Molly could see just the tip of one of the moons, and immediately, a certain degree of peace flooded through him.

“Thank you,” he whispered half to Caduceus, half to the unknown goddess, not trusting himself to speak any further.

In the morning, he’d either be someone new, or still himself, just a little different.

Either way, he reminded himself, the choice was his and his alone.

 

A single slat of sunlight fell diagonal across Molly’s face, warm and inviting. He’d woken with the sun, feeling it’s rays like an invitation to the new day, a reassurance that the world was good, and he was still in it, and those things, at least would not change.

“Are you ready?”

As nice as Caduceus’s low tones were, the question still stung and the answer was no, but they’d already eaten – there was nothing more to hold him back and Molly knew that he’d come to the cliff. Jump, and risk falling, remain, and never know what it might be like to soar. He’d thought long into the night; more than once he’d felt himself second guessing, but every time, he’d come back to the inevitable. Choosing the memories was what was right.

“No. I’m not. But if we don’t now, I never will be. So, I guess that means I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Alrighty then.” Caduceus patted the log next to him. “Come sit.”

When Molly was settled next to him, Caduceus lifted one hand to Molly’s head, the other held palm up, clutching what looked almost like sand, but sparkled with the brilliance of a thousand tiny gems.

“Mother, be with us, Mollymauk needs your help,” he prayed and then, lowered his head as he closed his eyes, expression set in concentration.

At first, Molly felt nothing. He was about to open his mouth and say so, when suddenly, a white light, brighter even than the glare of the sun on fresh snow, engulfed his vision completely.

_“Lucien the Nonagon, Sprite of my Domain, I take from you your magic, your immortality, your selfhood. Be mortal now, until the bonds of the agreement come to fruition, or your goals are met.”_

When it receded, everything was clear. It was as though he had been looking at the world through a fog before, and was for the first time seeing the world as it was.

He must have been silent a long time, because Caduceus cleared his throat, looking at him curiously. “Um. Hello?”

Everything and nothing was different. Everything and nothing was the same. He lifted his hands before his face, turning them over. Nothing looked different, save the missing lattice of ice, but he _felt_ different; warm, was the word, he knew now. Sensation flooded him in a way it never had before and he flung himself forward, pressing his fingers into the snow. A sharp cold tingle began at contact, tracing deeper and deeper into his flesh in a way both familiar and foreign. Bringing them up, cold and dripping, he ran them through his hair, slicking back deep purple curls between his horns.

“Molly?”

He let out a chiming laugh and got up to his feet, spinning in place as he looked towards the sky, towards the gate.

_An impossibly gentle hand in his hair, petting at him by the moonlight, while he lay unconscious in the snow. Not far away, two sets of footsteps, one smaller than the other, but he couldn’t hear them._

_“Frostling, my sweet frostling. I will not let you come to harm. I want you to be happy_. _You will find your happiness. I will aide you, where the Matron will not._ ”

“Thank you!” he cried to the heavens, beaming earnestly, tears streaking down his face as the memories fell back into place. “Thank you, Sehanine! Thank you, Moonweaver! Thank you, thank you!” Whirling on Caduceus, he laughed again, gleefully. “Thank you, Caduceus, really. Thank you.” He lay a hand on Caduceus’s shoulder. “You were right. I _do_ have a choice,” he said, voice brimming over with emotion. “I choose to be me.”

“What should I call you?”

“Molly.” Molly said firmly. “I’m Molly.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Molly.”

“It’s nice to meet me too.” He allowed himself one more moment to revel in the release that knowing brought before turning serious. “I know what I have to do. Maybe life would have been simpler if I didn’t know, but I’m glad I do. I’ll be heading back to Rexxentrum now, Caduceus, I won’t keep you any longer. But you’ve done so much for me, and I’ve nothing to offer you by way of return.”

Enigmatic, Caduceus only smiled. “Wherever the Mother is leading me. I’ll know it when I find it. Something tells me that your goddesses and mine are aligned in their goals. Something will come. Until then, it was nice meeting you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

“And you, Caduceus Clay. And you.” Molly quirked the side of his mouth. “Should I be on the lookout for any of your family members?”  

“I’m sure if you saw them, you’d know them.” It was true, and Molly couldn’t help but laugh a little at the allegation. Caduceus was about to turn away to gather his things, but he stopped and looked back, his large eyes serious and soft. “Be careful with your heart, Molly.”

“I will be.”

With that, the healer started on his way, kettle knocking with a metallic noise as it hung from a convenient strap on his staff. Much like he had arrived, Caduceus left with robins fluttering after him, drawing towards the oncoming spring the farther south he went. Molly watched him go in silence.

Even as Caduceus disappeared into the obscuring foliage of the winter wood, Molly felt his warning linger, taking up the space between them like a dark cloud. His heart – which he’d not been terribly careful with since the season began, since he saw the fire, and Caleb’s blue, blue eyes that day  - was beating wildly in his chest and the overwhelming elation he’d felt only moments before waned as he came down from the high.

He itched to leap into the air and soar towards Rexxentrum, but twin spots on his back ached where his wings ought to have been, as though they’d been ripped out by the roots. He remembered everything now, with an aching clarity, but he didn’t wish it away. Instead he let it wash over him; the only memory that set a sinking in his stomach that was the bargain he’d made, blindly, with his Winter Mistress.

Though he couldn’t see it, Molly instinctively looked towards the horizon where he knew, somewhere off in the distance, Rexxentrum rose unchallenged from the landscape, and within it, somewhere, Caleb, still plotting in vengeance. Caleb who wasn’t perfect. Caleb who was beautiful, but angry, flawed, fractured. Caleb with fire in his veins, flickering in his eyes. Caleb who was cruel, and kind all at once. Caleb who Molly still- A sense of urgency came over him. Caleb, who was alone, save for Nott, and pushing himself further and further towards a danger Molly was no longer sure they could take on by themselves. And he’d left Caleb alone. Alone, emotional and vulnerable.

His emotions jumbled together incoherently as he thought back to the shallow desire he’d once called love, felt his cheeks heat in shame as he recalled professing how he ‘felt’ about Caleb before he’d been made mortal. Before he understood.

Lucien, as he had been, could never have understood, and for that innocence, Molly wept. Yet, where that superficial shadow of love had been, something else had grown in its place. What he felt for Caleb now was more, somehow. Realer, grander, and all the more terrible for it. Real love had the power to hurt. Real love was _worth_ that hurt. And what he felt for Caleb did hurt, more than almost anything. Almost.

Morose, he looked back on the unknowable eons of his life; for all his simple joys, he’d been empty. A shell of a person. What was a life without pain? Without challenge, or growth?

If the fractured fragments of memory that had risen back to the fore during his flight from the guards were anything to go by, he’d once been a creature capable of those things. A creature who felt pain, who had been challenged had the capacity for growth. But someone had taken it from him. Someone had hidden those memories, in an attempt to do what? Shelter him? Save him? Whatever their intentions had been, Molly didn’t know. He put aside his ire in that for later. Whether it was the Moonweaver or the Matron didn’t matter. What was done, was done.

That Lucien, stripped of those things which would have given him the capacity for real love, would never have survived one day as a mortal. With a sinking feeling, he realized that the Raven Queen had never been cruel at all in her terms. In doing as she had, in stripping him of his selfhood, sending him to the mortal plane a memoryless shell, she’d given him more of a chance than he’d even have had otherwise.

A chance to really, really live.

A chance he may yet have the ability to save.

There was still time. The season wasn’t but half over – he felt it in his boned. There would be time for him to learn, time yet to see if Caleb might ever come to feel the same way.

With renewed conviction, Molly looked to the east. He could not win Caleb’s heart – Caleb’s heart wasn’t something that could be won – but he could be patient, he could support Caleb the way he had been, show him that he cared, and the rest…

The rest would be up to Caleb to decide.

Spring was a long ways away, Molly reaffirmed as he set off.

There was time.

* * *

He traveled well into the night, reflecting on everything that happened, trying to consolidate the old pieces of himself with the new. How strange it was that in so little time he’d become someone so real when he’d spent so many years as someone else. He had told Caduceus to call him Molly and, while he meant it sincerely, he’d been the most honest when he told Caduceus that he was himself. Just exactly who ‘himself’ yet was, he still had to find out, but it was coming into shape.

When he finally stopped, Molly settled himself on the open ground instead of carving a spot to curl up in. The special fabric of Caleb’s cloak was just enough to keep the cold from seeping into his back as he lay out beneath the diamond set velvet sky. He felt more tolerant of the frigid weather since his memories were returned, a side effect, Molly could only presume, of the nearing deadline, but it was a good thing considering that there was nothing else to protect him in the night.

For the first time in his long, long memory (longer than he probably knew), Molly found that he didn’t know how to talk to the Moonweaver. Usually, it was so easy, but nothing was simple anymore. As he considered how to start, Molly spent some time simply enjoying the evening’s beauty. There was a subtle green glow cast upon the world, enmeshing with the blue overtone that winter brought with it, the colours soothing.

Eventually, he could put it off no longer. He knelt, the wet of the snow seeping through his breeches.

“Moonweaver?” he called, looking up to the sky. “Moonweaver, can you hear me? Are you there?”

Molly waited.

Nothing.

“Being mortal isn’t what I thought it would be like. I bet Cree and the others are laughing at me, at how pathetic I must seem now. I was so stupid then, I don’t know how you could stand me sometimes. But…I miss it. I miss performing my duties, and flying. I miss flying most of all. But I can do something, here on the mortal plane. Something that’s maybe really worth doing. I can help someone. This Ikithon…I don’t know much about him, but from what Caleb’s said, he’s a not great person. I won’t just be helping Caleb, I’ll be helping others like him. And that man is in control of those nasty guards, and they were…Moonweaver, did you know that people on the material plane don’t like others just because they’re tieflings? Or, or goblins? Did you know that? It’s awful. But Caleb’s not like that. He can be mean sometimes, but it’s all internal. He’s lashing out because he’s scared and focused. I’m not…I’m not trying to explain away what he’s done, but at the same time…” He sighed heavily. “I wish I could be with you, right now. Like old times. I miss how you used to pet my hair, and how you spoke so soft to me. Maybe my concerns weren’t so great then, but you still treated them as if they were, treated me like they mattered, no matter how petty. How do you do it? How do you care so much?” Squeezing his eyes shut briefly before voicing the question aloud, Molly took a deep breath. “Why did you hide that memory from me? Why did you hide my pass? Was I a bad person? Did I do bad things?”

Even as his questions stretched out into the void, Molly felt his heart sinking, knowing that they would go unanswered. Knowing that he would be left to wonder, potentially forever if Caleb didn’t fall in love with him.

“Please,” he begged. “I don’t want to forget everything I’ve learned, if he doesn’t fall in love with me. I know that was the bargain I made with the Matron, but I’m a different person now! I’ve grown so much, I’ve changed! I can’t go back to what I was. I can’t lose that. Please, Moonweaver. Please, if there’s anything you can do… Anything you can say to the Matron.” He worried at his lip. “I don’t…I don’t expect that Caleb will love me before spring.” Admitting it felt almost as terrible as keeping the silent, insidious thought in the back of his head. “And if that is his choice, not to love me, then I will live with it. But I can’t lose this time. I can’t have anything else taken from me. Please…”

In his mind’s eye, Molly could see the Moonweaver’s knowing smile, her finely arched brows raising as if informing him that he knew what he really needed to do. In reverence, he bowed his head. “Matron, please… I know I begged you before, and looked a fool for it, but what you gave me was a gift. Please, if Caleb denies me, please don’t take that gift away too. Lucien would have thought that Caleb was the gift. But I know that it was the opportunity to be mortal. That was why you allowed it, please don’t take it from me. I’ve learned my lesson. I have. I promise.”

He hoped for a sign. Something, anything, a raven across the light of the moons, but the world was still and silent around him.

“I’ll accept your-“

Slowly, almost like an expanding ripple across the horizon, the green and blue casts to the sky seemed to brighten and stretch out towards him. Light extended in all directions, a wave of fluid, waning and waxing movement, the colours shifting and changing miraculously as he stared in awe at the spectacular sight.

The Ribbons.

The Moonweaver’s Ribbons.

Silently, tears of relief streaked down his face. “Thank you. _Thank you_ for hearing me. Thank you.”

For hours, Molly lay awake watching the lights in the north, warm comfort settling into his chest like the soft lulling mummer of the Moonweaver as she’d stroke her fingers through his hair until sleep took him.

 

Morning saw a storm.  The sky was swallowed with white, flakes coming down at an extreme angle at rate. The deep freeze woke him, tingling in his skin as he woke completely covered in snow. Sitting up, Molly shook the snow out of his hair. The grey light was piercing on his eyes, and he pulled the cloak up around his face to shelter himself from it a bit as he pushed on into the storm, internal compass leading him easterly without issue.

And then, in the midst of the snow, he heard a thunder crack. The soft glow of lightning through the snow drew his attention instantly, and he felt longing, deep in his heart, for the friend he’d left behind. On the air, the smell of ozone wafted on the harsh wind and he felt such a shudder in his heart he could hardly stand to be without her. And then, like a ghost through the snow, he saw her.

“Yasha!” He called out, desperately, half afraid he was only seeing things, but then he felt her large, sparking hand on his arm and saw the outline of her wings against the storm and new that she was really, really there.

“Hello, my friend.”

Yasha’s soft expression solidified as the storm receded around them, the tiny, gentle smile on her lips achingly sweet.

“Oh Yasha!” Molly flung himself into her arms, her lightening wings coming to wrap around him as a secondary embrace. “You’re here! How are you here?”

“I am always here for you, my friend,” She said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “How are you?”

“I’m better.” Molly said, a little uncertainly. “I think. It’s complicated, honestly. But I’m so glad to see you, Yasha. I’m so, so glad. I’ve missed you. I didn’t know it, but I missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too. I don’t know…should I…what do you want to-“

“Molly, please, dear. Molly. I’m…I’m still who I was, but-“

“But you’re not. I understand, Molly. I understand and I love you so much.”

“What are you doing here?” He asked, pressing his forehead comfortably into her sternum; she was unyielding against him in the best sort of way, a solid rock, a pillar in a world of uncertainty.

“I’m here to see you. I may not serve your mistresses, but the Storm Lord knows that my heart is with you wherever you are. You are the mate of my soul, Molly, no matter what name you use, or what life you live,” She buried her face in his hair and breathed deep. “and I will always be here for you.”

“I’m afraid.”

The whisper found its way from his lips before he knew what he was saying, before he could even consider what to say next.

“I’m afraid too.” Yasha admitted, putting some distance between them, but keeping her hands on his shoulders. “Molly, there are things that you need to know. I’ve watched you all this time, and I-“

“Then you’ve seen Caleb?” he asked urgently. “Have you seen him since I left him? Are he and Nott alright? I’ve been worried, because the circumstances under which I left weren’t ideal to say the least and-“

“Molly, I do not want to see you unhappy, but…” Yasha looked at the ground, gnawing on her lower lip, a sure fire sign she was worried.

“What?” he asked. “Please, Yasha, if you know something-“

“I just do not want to see you get hurt, Molly.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye, no matter how he tried to meet her gaze.

“Hurt?”

“Yes. Hurt.”

“Wait,” he looked at her hard. “Did you know about my memories?” he asked, but she spoke over him simultaneously.

“I was in love with a human once too, and I don’t want your Caleb to hurt you!”

Molly blanched, abandoning his train of thought. “You were…in love with a human?”

Soft, sad, Yasha nodded, finally looking up at him from under her lashes, despite the fact that she towered over his not inconsiderable height. “She was called Zuala. And I loved her very much. And because of that, I was hurt. And I don’t want to see you suffer the same hurt. I lost her. I can’t lose you too, Molly. I can’t.”

“I’m, gods, Yasha, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He visibly deflated. “I…”

“Molly.” Yasha took him by the shoulders and pulled him into a crushing embrace. “I am going to tell you about Zuala now. As a warning. I don’t want you not to love, Molly. Love it important. Love is beautiful. But it is not always wise.”

He waited uneasily, tail twitching with restless energy while she gathered herself to speak.

“You know me well, Molly. You know me better than almost anyone. Everyone thinks that I am fierce, but I am not.” argument

“You can be, dear,” Molly countered. “but you’re also the most gentle person I know.”

“It was so easy to be gentle with her. Just like it is with you. When I was around her, it felt like the only thing in the world worth doing. Molly, I was just like you, always with some excuse to be here on the mortal plane so that I could be with her. It was a mistake. Loving her was a mistake. Loving her almost cost me my life…and it did cost her hers.”

“Oh! Oh no,” he cried plaintively. “Oh Yasha, no! Why? What happened?”

“They found us together, Molly. They branded her a heretic and killed her. She died trying to protect me. And your Caleb, he’s running headlong into danger, you barreling right along after him and I can see where it ends.  I have seen it before and I see it again now. Please Molly... if you won’t come home, then be careful. Please, please be careful.”

“I will,” he nodded into her, determined, and then, quietly, after stifling the rest of his questions about Zuala, added. “Yasha? Were you mortal too?”

Angling his head up, Molly caught the shake of her head. “No, Molly.”

“Then how did she fall in love with you? How did they see you togeth-“ He cut himself off, the old, old memory coming back to him unbidden, and the truth felt suddenly revealed. “Humans can see you, can’t they?”

“Yes, Molly.”

“Oh.” He pulled away from her, watching her expression carefully. “Did you know that people used to be able to see me too, but now they can’t?”

Another shake of her head. “No. I didn’t.”

Molly’s mouth twitched. “I had a memory, Yasha. A memory from before I can remember, of being chased, cornered by mortals. They tried to kill me with fire. But I think the Moonweaver saved me. I don’t think I was quite meant to remember that. But now that I know? I can’t go back, Yasha. I can’t forget everything I’ve learned. Even if…”he sniffed. “Even if it means living without Caleb. Even if that means never seeing you again. I know I made a bargain with the Raven Queen, but I really think she’ll listen. And if the punishment is never seeing Caleb again, or you…oh Yasha!” He flung himself on her again, speaking directly into her ear.

They held one another for some time before she loosened her grip on him and settled him back on the ground.

“Are you sure, Molly?”

“Yes.”

Yasha smiled sadly. “Then this is goodbye for now. But I am always here. You don’t have to do this on your own. If you need me, will you call for me?”

He cupped her face in his palm and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss to her other cheek. “I will, Yasha. I will. I love you.”

“I love you too, Molly.”

The snow and wind picked up, whirling around them, obscuring Yasha from his view. And when it settled and the storm died away, she was gone and Molly was alone once more. He looked to the east, far and away from him.  

Two more days. Two more days and Rexxentrum would be before him again and Caleb would finally be within reach. Determined, unhindered by the inclement weather and the growing chill, Molly set off into the storm, prepared to meet one of an entirely different kind when he arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know your thought! I love discussing things with you all in the comments. 
> 
> Next up: Caleb Centric Chapter! 
> 
> Also, I'm almost finished writing this! I've got about a chapter's worth of writing left to complete between the last two chapters there are to post! I may at some point write an epilogue, but at the moment, that is taking a side shelf the the spring fic! Which you can see is the next (and last) in this series. Please check it out and the awesome are that @ruushes did for me!


	10. 9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read the updated tags. This chapter is primarily made up of Caleb flashback, including the night that the Blumenthaal trio 'graduated'. General Caleb Backstory related warnings apply here, in addition to a few more. Material that may be uncomfortable for some readers begins with the line: "Astrid has dinner" and ends with the end of the flashback (all in italics). The section of Caleb's flashback that is of his home burning is the same as it appears in the prologue, with minor alterations, which are part of the new tags.
> 
> Description of the information in the scenes are provided in end notes, just in case you wish to skip, or wish to check beforehand.

9.

“I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future - the timelessness of the rocks and the hills - all the people who have existed there. I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.”

~ Andrew Wyeth

“Hair is gray and the fires are burning. So many dreams on the shelf. You say I wanted you to be proud of me. I always wanted that myself.”

~ Tori Amos

 

**29** ** th ** **of Cuersaar**

_Stop thinking about him_ , Caleb admonished himself as he tried not to look out of place in the Library’s vaults. He’d risked using a quick spell to transmute a discarded coat into something resembling that of the sort of scholar he really was, and slipped through the back of Jester’s Inn to get a few pages forged so that he could enter into the tower hall of tomes. The Cobalt Reserve of Rexxentrum was Zemni’s largest library, perhaps the largest in all the Empire, and within were housed many miraculous texts containing all manner of knowledge that would be useful in his upcoming endeavour. While he’d found a variety of useful things, Caleb’s thoughts continued to stray.

Since the moment Mollymauk had walked out on him, it seemed that all he was capable of thinking about. Try as he might, Caleb was incapable of banishing the infuriating tiefling from his mind.

The minute he really _looked_ at Molly, saw the harsh set of his jaw, the leveled, challenging look in his eyes against the otherwise passive expression on his face, Caleb regretted every word out of his mouth. He’d been tired, upset, and scared, but that was no excuse. He’d long treated Molly more than poorly and the judgmental look that Nott threw him after the door shut behind Molly had been enough to rattle him to his senses, but he still hadn’t gone after Molly. It was better that way, after all, Caleb told himself. Better that Molly get away from him while he still had the chance. Better that Caleb take the risks on his own. He’d half expected Nott to leave him that night as well. He wouldn’t have blamed her.

No one else would die on his account.

Except Nott had stayed, defying his every expectation in the process. She’d sat him down the next morning and given him a strong piece of her mind, but she’d stayed.

Caleb would never forget the tears in her eyes as she spoke about how important it was to be kind to others; he’d shuddered through her talk, reminded far too much of his mother. A niggling in the back of his mind was instigated by the thought, but he’d said nothing, hesitant to broach such a sensitive topic when Nott was already so short tempered with him.

In the end, he’d relegated his response to six words.

“You are right,” he’d admitted eyebrows drawn in, head bowed. “I am sorry.”

“You should be.” But as soon as the words were out, Nott was hugging him close, petting at his hair, crying into his shoulder.

He didn’t ask her why.

They hadn’t talked much about it after that, but there was an empty place where Molly had so forcibly been fitted into what passed for their lives. He’d wiggled and shifted and pushed his way into fitting with them and for all the fight Caleb had put up on principle, the hole in his life could not be filled with anything else. Gone was Molly’s cutting wit, sharp tongue and wide, expressive (despite their solid colour) eyes. Gone was his lilting voice and his constant pleading.

All he’d wanted was to belong, and Caleb had done nothing but push him away.

And, for that, Caleb was ashamed.

 _Focus. You were not cruel to Molly only to ignore everything for which_ you _ignored_ him _._

Caleb shuffled through a few of the papers in front of him, but the glyphs were blurred by his lack of focus. Two weeks. Molly had been gone for two weeks. The night before there had been a storm, a wild, ferocious storm, the wind whistling through the alleyway where he and Nott had slept, unwilling to return to Jester’s full time, lest they be caught there and put their friends in danger. Nott had captured Caleb with her large glowing stare, shaking in the cold more so than from nervousness, but he could see that in the twitch of her ears.

“Do you think Molly is alright?” She asked, and Caleb recalled the terrible sinking of his gut as he forced himself to consider the tiefling, helpless, lost in the storm and snow. He’d left without a pack, taken only that which was on his person. He had no means of shelter; Caleb was only grateful that he still had the nice weatherproofed cloak that Nott had bought in Yrrosa, but even then, it was unlikely to be enough.

“I am sure he is fine,” Caleb had lied to her very softly, just loud enough to be heard through the howling of the wind. “After all, he does not need us, is that not what he said?”

Nott hadn’t deigned to reply, but the worry hadn’t left her eyes. Not even that morning, before he left for the Library, had she looked entirely at ease with the situation.

 _Focus. Focus! You are getting nowhere._  

That time, when he looked back down at the scrolls, the glyphs fell into place and order, finally making sense in his brain. The spell was one he had heard of, something that he’d long considered. Fire was, after all, his forte. Whereas he’d been passably capable with flame before the incident, he’d made it a priority afterwards, but this spell was on a grander scale. This spell, for all its simplicity, had eluded him. Over the space of a few hours, he copied it into his book, along with a few others, and then packed his things away.

“You found everything you needed?” A half elf woman with an even thicker accent than Caleb asked him almost imperiously.

“Ah, ja, danke schön.” Caleb replied in their shared language.

Nonplussed, the woman's mouth twitched, almost seeming as though she'd shifted, though her immaculate blue robes didn't even swish  “Guten Tag.”

“Guten tag.”

Reminding himself what it was to fit in with the upper class, he rose to his full, straight backed height as he stood from the chair. “Danke sehr für alles,” he said, inclining his head a ways before stepping out and around her so that he was in view of the hall.

Book clasped tightly in his arms, Caleb made his way through the library, back down several flights of stairs and out the door without difficulty. The minute he stepped into the courtyard, however, Caleb felt the uncanny sensation of eyes on him. There was a smattering of blue robed monks milling about, but none of them seemed to be overly preoccupied by his presence. He descended the stone steps rapidly, but the sensation didn't ease.

Someone was watching him.

Paranoid and over aware, Caleb tried not to look suspicious, falling back into his old postures and habits. The best way to go anywhere was to look like you belonged, Caleb knew, so he paid no outright attention to the eyes he felt at his back and continued walking until he was through the front archway and back into the streets. The fourth tier wasn’t particularly busy, but neither was it empty. The midday sunlight provided no warmth, but it was a welcome boon after the storm the night before. Where that morning everything – including the obelisk statue to Ioun in the outer courtyard, had been covered completely in snow. Now, it was half melted, though what remained still sparkled.

As soon as possible, Caleb entered the thronging crowd, snaking its way over cobblestone paths. Immediately, he disappeared into the sea of faces; for a while, the feeling went away only for a flash of cobalt blue in his peripherals. But when he looked, (and he hated himself for looking, for giving himself away, but it was ingrained, automatic. _Foolish. Unacceptable,_ whispered Ikithon.) there was no blue in sight.

The back of his neck prickled. It was all he could so to keep his breath even, but he managed it, walking the same sedate pace as everyone else, though his eyes darted about for the nearest open alleyway into which he could disappear. If he timed it just right…

His fingers itched for the wire in his pocket. Nott wasn't far away, but performing any such magic in public view, even dressed as he was, would be cause for just as much suspicion on the fourth tier as any other, and so he stuffed them into the pockets of his pants instead, following along the trajectory he’d chosen before. Waiting just until the right moment, so that an oncoming cart would drive past just as he crossed onto the farther side of the road. Quickly, he turned and headed off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the shadows of the alley he’d just passed.

Peering out from within, he noticed no one stopping to look around, breathed a sigh of relief and rolled, his back against the stonework, knocking his head on the wall just a little too hard. Caleb closed his eyes and-

“Hey.”

They flew open. Heart pounding, hand raised, poised to twist arcane motions in the air, Caleb looked up at the shadowed, hooded figure standing before him.

“I’ve been trying to catch up to you for the past ten minutes,” the figure said in a familiar voice, lowering his hood.

For a moment, Caleb didn’t know what to do.

Red eyes glittered in the shadow of the alley, and the curvature of spiraling horns was just visible, backlit from the open street.

“Mollymauk…”

“Yes, dear, it’s me. I didn’t mean to scare you like that, it’s just, I didn’t figure I should be showing myself off, you know. Rare purple tiefling and all.” He shrugged like it was nothing and tossed his hair, matted a bit from the hood. “I just got back into town this morning. I stopped by Jester’s. She told me where I might find you. I haven’t seen Nott anywhere, but then, she _is_ very good at what she does, isn’t she?”

“You-you are alright?” Caleb asked, unable to stem his emotion. “The storm, last night, it-“

“Oh, yes. I’m _quite_ alright, Caleb.”

Brows drawing inward, Caleb worried his lower lip between his teeth. “You are sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m alright, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What did you think, that I’d died out there?”

_Yes. Maybe._

“No.”

“Were you…worried about me?”

There was a hesitance, Caleb noticed, to Molly’s question; his tail twitched, as did the corner of his mouth (though not upwards into the shadow of a grin like it was wont to. This was something more. Something different.) and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Ja. I was. I am…” Caleb quickly glanced up to gauge Molly's reaction. The tiefling waited, impassive, for him to continue. “I am sorry. Sorry for everything. I should not have...I was wrong to push you away. All you wanted to do was help me and I scorned you, and insulted you. I was cruel, I know that much. And my focus was no excuse. I should never have said the things I did; it was unforgivable and -”

“That's not true.” Molly cut him off completely, almost passionately. “That's not true at all! Yes, you were a complete asshole, and worse. And you were right to be worried about me in the storm - don't think I didn't see the look on your face, Caleb. You ran me off, and it was my choice to let you, but you had a hand in it. But that doesn't make what you did unforgivable. That's my distinction to make. Not yours, nor anyone else’s. And I choose to forgive you for it.”

Something was markedly different about Mollymauk. Caleb could see it in the way he held himself, less certain than before, but also, more sure. It was almost like a well of energy was bubbling beneath Molly’s surface, eternally imminent to burst. Caleb wasn’t sure what to make of it. While his words made Molly out as being exactly the same person Caleb had come to know, his inscrutable eyes were of a quality that lacked definition, their emotion evading Caleb’s ability to classify.

Suddenly, with a sharp jolt of his head, the tip of his ear just twitching a scant inch, Molly closed in on Caleb’s space, pressing him up against the wall bodily. One of his palms lay flat on the stone beside Caleb’s cheek, and Caleb could feel Molly’s hot breath fill the air between them. Without explanation, Molly took a step closer, their chests flush, and leaned in.

Caleb’s brain raced, his own breathing growing rapid in his confusion.

“I think we’re being watched,” Molly whispered in his ear, but the uptick in the beat of Caleb’s heart was due only to the fear response, and nothing more. “But I could be wrong.”

Caleb swallowed. “I thought so earlier, but it was only you…” He wet his lips. “Mollymauk.”

“Seems like I’m wrong, though,” Molly murmured, making no move to pull away. “No one’s come for us. And I don’t feel-“

“-like you are being watched anymore?” Caleb managed, breathless, though the fear was lessening.

“Right.”

It felt as though they would stay standing there like that forever, but, just as the thought passed through Caleb’s head, Molly pulled away.

“Well,” he said, pulling his hood back up. “if anyone was watching us, either we lost them, or they were just curious passersby. Where’s Nott? We’d better get going, just in case.”

“W-we had a place…to meet. Ja…there is a place. I will show you.” Caleb followed suit, situating his own hood so that his fox-bright hair was hidden, pulling off the coat that he’d worn to enter the library and leaving it lay behind a wooden crate. “Follow me.”

“Jester said,” Molly began as he trotted a bit to keep up with Caleb’s rather driving pace. “that you and Nott haven’t been staying with her. Is that true?”

It was true, of course. They’d talked, he and Nott and neither of them were able to rationalize staying put when it meant that Jester and Fjord might end up in trouble. During that space of time, Fjord had secreted them food and supplies on an irregular schedule. It mostly worked, but occasionally, he’d be held up, if not for one thing, then another, and had been unable to make it to them. As it was, Caleb knew, Fjord couldn’t put himself too much on the line; with his maimed arm, and living as a half-orc, in Rexxentrum, working for a tiefling to boot…he’d had a hard time of it before getting back to Jester, and it was best not to make difficulty for them.

It had been four days since the last delivery, and they’d turned to Nott’s particular specialties for an avenue through which to stifle the rumbling of their stomachs. Which was fine, of course. They had survived on far less before. But with Molly back…

 _Thoughts for another time_ , Caleb reminded himself.

Though it took some time for them to traverse the roads securely, they made it without incident, or talk, for that matter. Something within Caleb felt dislodged, haphazard, and he didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t understand where it had come from, or why he was feeling it. He thought, when he saw Molly’s face in the dark, that everything would go back the new normal that he hadn’t even realized had come to be, but something significant had changed. Something was different. Something within himself was altering and, for the first time in a long, long time, Caleb felt truly unsettled.

When they reached the spot, he still wasn’t feeling better, and Nott was nowhere to be found.

“Is this the place?” Molly asked.

“Ja. Now, we wait, I guess. I would message her, but I do not know what direction she may be in.”

Molly made a sound, halfway between surprise and concern.

“Magic? You’d use magic here?” he hissed.

“I-“

“He’s gotten a lot less careful since you left, Molly. You’re still alive, I see. Where’ve you been?” Nott emerged from around the corner. “Hello, Cay.”

“Hallo, Schätzchen.” Caleb nodded in acknowledgement.

“Yes, I’m alive. Good to see you too. What a warm welcome.” Molly rolled his eyes. “I went to see Caduceus Clay.”

And there it was. The discomfort spiked and Caleb shifted his weight nervously. “Was he able to help you…” _Mollymauk?_ The name was on the tip of his tongue, but Caleb couldn’t force it to his lips.

“I helped me. Just, not in the way that you think,” Molly replied. “I’m still Mollymauk Tealeaf. I’m still me.” For a moment, Caleb thought that was going to be the end of it, but then, quickly, Molly’s expression changed and he returned to his previous tangent. “I won’t let you distract me Caleb. You were going to use magic just a minute ago, and we need to talk about that. What happened? I leave because you think I’m going to get us all killed, and then you go and get reckless on me?” he asked, rounding on Caleb, the tone of his voice hovering in a strange place somewhere between casual joviality and serious indignation.

Surprised and more than a little intimidated, still trying to backpedal from his mental misstep regarding Molly’s memories, Caleb took a step back. “These are calculated risks. Th-things are different. I am sor-“

“You’re already forgiven. I told you that, Caleb,” Molly replied, his hard tones edging back to soft, a hand reaching out for Caleb, who flinched away, missing the flash of hurt on Molly’s face.

“Look,” he started, matter of fact. “I just want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Caleb. I came back because I want to help you see this thing through. I came back _for you_ , but you need to explain, once and for all, what is happening here. You want to take revenge, to take out this…to take out your old teacher. He’s a bad, powerful man. I understand all of that. I understand that you want to kill him, but what is your plan here, Caleb? What is it that you’re doing? I need to be in the loop to help you. I need to understand how it is that you want to do this. I need to understand, if I’m going to help. And I am going to help.”

Caleb shuddered a breath. “Okay.” He jaw tightened. “Okay. I am going to tell you a story. And then, I am going to tell you a plan. And what you do from there, is your decision and yours alone, Mollymauk. Is that to your satisfaction?”

Molly nodded. “Yes.”

“Then sit, and get comfortable as you are able. Both of you. It is a long story, and not pleasant to tell, but it is the truth, and I must face it now if I am ever to face Ikithon again.”

As Molly - or whoever he really was now, Caleb thought to himself – started off, Nott drew up beside him, watching Molly contemplatively as he went. "What was all that about?" she asked.

"He said he didn't have his memories back. But I know he is a liar. All the same, I will not push him."

"Why not?"

"Because,” he said firmly. “we can be whoever we want to be. That is his choice. That is my choice. All people can choose who they are."

 "No, Caleb." Nott said solemnly, as she pushed past him. "Not everyone."

The jammed themselves into a corner, hidden from sight and the whistling wind by a few larger barrels, over which Caleb propped the tarpaulin, tying it down for a modicum of shelter.

“This is the story of how my parents were murdered.”

 _Caleb is fourteen when he is first summoned to the Rathaus in Blumenthaal’s tiny town square. Compared to the fancy people in their gilded robes with their straight backs, the nicest building in town (save the temple to Pelor)_ _looks simple and plain. As a much younger child, he’d adored coming to the city center to stare at its impressive spire while his Vatti and Mutti tugged him along to market. He’d found it a spectacular sight._

_Now, the two people standing before him seem to dwarf the space. They fill it so completely, Caleb almost feels invisible. Beside him stand Astrid and Eodwulf. He is on the end. Shorter than both – Astrid had been taller than them both for over a year, but Eodwulf’s growth spurt was new – he isn’t sure what he’s doing there._

_“Your names, jungen, mädchen?”_

_Caleb doesn’t hear his classmates recite their names. He doesn’t half but hear himself recite his own, he is so nervous._

_“Gut. Today, is a good day for you. You have been chosen. You have shown skill and promise. Show that same ability before us today, and you will make your parents very proud indeed.”_

_In the shadows, a man is sitting. Caleb notices him just as the old elf speaking drifts off on a tangent and he can’t stop looking, peering closer and closer to see. The man must notice him, because he stands. When the elf notices, he stops and steps aside._

_“Do you have a question, Junge?” the man asks him. He is old too, for a human, with long grey hair and a long grey beard that drapes artfully over his decadent mages robes._

_“Bitte, mein Herr, aber, wer sind Sie?” Who are you? Caleb cannot hide his curiosity._

_“I am Archmage Trent Ikithon, young man. And I will be your teacher.” Although he gestures to all three of them with a wave of his hand, Herr Ikithon’s eyes never leave Caleb. They are an unsettling colour, a watery grey that seems to swirl like white paint dropped into murky water. He leaves Caleb speechless, mouth dry, which his classmates must think is quite the feat. His impressive height towers over Caleb, as if he didn’t already feel small and insignificant, but, most surprisingly, Herr Ikithon gestures for him to step up, to join him on the raised dais. “Show us what you are capable of, young man.”_

 

_Caleb shows him._

_Caleb is sixteen, and school is his life. He wears his robes with pride, hanging his vermillion tabards with care in the wardrobe, and polishing his boots each night. Eodwulf has a little less care for his appearance these days, but Astrid is the most impeccable of the three. While they were never terribly close back home, in the past two years, they have learned that they are all each other has. Within their common dormitory, they find the safe haven that exists no where else, and even that is not sacrosanct. No space is truly ‘safe’, but Caleb does not feel unsafe for it. Everywhere they are is watched, and they are often the ones who do the watching, just as fellow students watch them. That is the way of things, especially among Ikithon’s Red Hands._

_Even after two years, Caleb is not sure how he feels about the nickname. He prefers to be called by the title ‘Magus dieser Unterlagen-Behörde’, but simply ‘Mage’ is generally sufficient. The other students, ones who are not members of the Studenten des Aufklärung, watch them with barely concealed derision. Of course, Caleb could reprimand them, and has, but usually the right look is enough to make them blanche. They have no respect, and it irks Caleb beyond all telling. He wears the embroidered robes with pride, marking him out as Ikithon’s chosen elite._

_Today, especially, of all days._

_The three of them are leaving the dorm. Their safe haven will become someone else’s. Today, they move to the Tower._

_“Liebe, are you coming?” Astrid calls from the hallway, her voice sharp and commanding. Caleb thinks about the spot over his left pectoral where her teeth grazed him the night before, leaving a dark, secret mark. How even her whispers were full of presence. How he had surged back against her, vicious in his own right, he the rampant flame to her precision blade. The push and pull of power between them was intoxicating. “Herr Ikithon expects us promptly.”_

_“Ich komme, Astrid.”_

_“Jetzt.”_

_Now._

_She is jealous, he knows. Jealous of the favour he’s been shown lately. Where Astrid cannot see, Caleb’s lips twist into a sneer. She is too precise, Herr Ikithon has told him in confidence, and Eodwulf too wild. But Caleb knows (he has been told) that he is just the right measure between them. The perfect successor to his Master’s seat on the Assembly._

_A seat Astrid covets._

_Herr Ikithon tells him that she is not creative enough. She is too rigid, too restrained._

_Caleb hazards to agree._

_Once, he would have stuck up for her. Where Eodwulf was too wild, Astrid could tame him. Where Astrid was too precise, Eodwulf could set her loose. They seemed made for one another._

_But, they’d always said to him, you have left yourself out. You balance us both. You harmonize us._

_He’d smiled then, taken their hands and held them both close, a barrier between him and an unfamiliar world. They complimented one another, a perfect set, never to be parted, yet, Caleb had doubts._

_In fact, Caleb isn’t sure he ever stopped. That Astrid should have chosen him and not Eodwulf had initially surprised him, but over time he came to read her like a book - another fault of her unflinching nature. She craved the favour that Ikithon bestowed upon him, and so, when she could not have that, she craved Caleb instead. Eodwulf has been caught in between ever since, allowing whichever of them came crawling to him to fall back into him, or sometimes, both at once._

_All they are is a blight on one another, but they are stronger together than apart. Caleb knows that it’s true, because otherwise, Herr Ikithon would send the others away. And in that, Caleb knows too that, for as much as Ikithon dotes on him, as favoured as he is, he is still a failure._

_He pulls the tan robes over his head, pulling the sleeves down over the tiny, jagged, glittering bumps that litter his forearms, gritting his teeth against the sting and goes into the hallway with his satchel before Astrid can be bothered to call for him again._

_Weeks later, Caleb is heading to his Master’s chambers for a private session (the cuts on his arms still burn from the last time, but his magic is stronger. He can feel it, he can_ feel _it.) when he overhears them talking. Herr Ikithon and Archmage Tversky._

 _“He is being a pompous ass, Trent. I thought he_ understood _his place.”_

 _“I think you will find that he does, Doolan. Bertrand is malleable, but he’s allowed to be pompous, he’s the Emperor after all. Let him think he has control. Give him a little power now and again. It keeps him happy, and when he is kept happy, we are kept powerful. That is how this works. That is how this has_ always _worked.”_

 _“Yes, but they were_ my _prisoners, Trent, and you had no right-!”_

_“Oh, Doolan. You misunderstand. I’m simply doing my job. We are the Empire, after all, Are we not?”_

_“Your_ job? _I beg to differ, Trent you-“_

_Caleb quickly turns around and walks back the way he came, his breathing ragged, his gait unsteady. The first alcove he comes to, he sits down in, catching his breath. Mentally, he ticks off the minutes in his head. He was early – generally Herr Ikithon prefers that they be exactly on time, but he has always allowed Caleb to arrive a little bit earlier. He times it so that, when he does make his way back to his Master’s study, heart rate calmed and expression collected, he is still two minutes early._

_“Ah, my boy, come in, come in. You’re early.”_

_“Ja, mein Herr, my apologies.”_

_“No, no, do sit, please, young man. I have something to speak to you about. A great honour, if you will, accompanied by a final test of your resovle…”_

_At first, it is hard to stay focused, when just minute before he heard his Master and teacher speak treason against the Empire, but then, Herr Ikithon’s words break through, and the only thing ringing in Caleb’s mind is ‘Master Wizard’, the new rank he will be accorded beneath Ikithon, when he is named successor to his Master’s seat on the Assembly._

_He settles it in his mind, not to think about what he overheard. And most of all, not to tell anyone of the news imparted to him. He doesn’t want Astrid’s ire, not when he is basking in the joy of his grand success. Not now. Not ever._

_Two days pass more slowly than two years ever did. Caleb aches to be back in Bluemthaal, to see his parents. Graduation! Graduation, Ikithon had said. All three of them. And Caleb… Ikithon had been smiling when he mentioned the ‘special announcement’._

_Astrid scowls at him for his beaming. He is happy to be going home. Happy to be seeing his cat and his parent’s homestead, and his parents themselves. Happy to make them proud. Happy to have made Ikithon proud. He no longer cares that she is jealous. It doesn’t matter. Wulf only rolls his eyes at them these days anyhow. And if Wulf can be above, it, so can Caleb._

_But he is also beaming because of the look in Ikithon’s eyes when he mentioned the announcement, when his Master indicated that he would be joining them in visiting Blumenthaal this time, after the Embertide ceremonies are through. Caleb doesn’t even feel the bite of the gems stuck inside his forearms for the adrenalin._

_And everything goes so well. He reunites with his parents. There are hugs and kisses all around, and his father deposits Frumpkin in his arms; she purrs so loudly, rubbing her face on his, that he can’t make out anything else._

_That night, he lies in his old bed, stroking her back rhythmically as she lays curled atop him.  Tomorrow is the day, and his parents will beam at him, and his Vatti will wipe misty eyes while his Mutti pats his arm reassuringly, her lip wobbling._

_It is then that he hears their voices, a low rumble. The voices of his parents have always carried through the thin walls of their simple homestead, and Caleb remembers hearing the warning more than once from his parents, as a child, not to eavesdrop._

_“Neugierige Katzen verbrennen sich die Tatzen, engelein.” He can hear his Mutti speaking the words, but as he always has, Caleb ignores them. “Curious kittens burn their paws, my angel.” After all, that was how he learned that he was to have Frumpkin for his seventh birthday. He wonders if they are speaking of him, of his accomplishments, of the honor he has brought them through his studies, and climbs out of bed, cat in his arms, to listen in from the steps._

_“-has to be done away with. He is ruining our child.”_

_“But Ikithon is powerful, Leofric.”_

_“Our son is a disgrace. This Empire is a disgrace. It must all be done away with.”_

_“I know, I do. There are ways. Special ways. He is here! Sleeping in the town just now. It would be easy, so easy, husband. We could do it. We could bring it all down so easily.”_

_“Una, my love. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, we will do it. We will. And then, we will be free of this Empire.”_

_“Yes, liebling. Finally. And may they rot in the nine hells.”_

_Caleb feels sick to his stomach._

Traitors _._

_They are traitors. They plan to…to…to murder-_

_The though chokes off with a hitching breath and he has to stop himself from making the floorboards creak when he can no longer support himself for the shock of it. A little voice in his head reminds him that, not long ago, Ikithon was speaking like a traitor himself._

_But Ikithon is the Empire_.

 _He mouths the words to himself over and over again until his silent tears run out, and in the morning, when he goes to Ikithon and tells him, warns him,_ reports _to him, Caleb knows that his Master is right when he smiles grimly and tells Caleb “You know what you must do.”_

_And he does know._

_Astrid and Eodwulf are not far behind, similar stories on their lips._

_And it is decided, what must happen next._

_Eodwulf holds the knife, caressing lovingly in his hand, watching it with wide eyes, it’s bright gleaming blade a mocking star. Astrid palms the tiny phial in her hand, acid smile on her lips, and Caleb can see already the cogs in her brain whirring._

_When they ask him how he will do it, he hold up his hands, turning them over, palm up, flexing and curling his fingers._

_“My magic is all I need,” he says. “Nothing else.” Not my parents. Not you. Just my magic._

_And Master Ikithon._

_During the announcement that day, Caleb’s face is stony, and his parents even have the gall to look at him quizzically, to ask if he is alright._

_“Our boy is so serious today, Una.”_

_“Our boy is becoming a man, Leofric.”_

_Caleb smiles, but it is cold, without emotion. Inside, he is fracturing._

_Astrid has dinner with her parents. She invites Caleb and Eodwulf. Together, the three watch impassively as her parents foam at the mouth and collapse over their bowls of stew. Neither Caleb nor Eodwulf touch theirs._

_They’re not stupid._

_Wulf’s house is next. They come to the door together, but he asks them to wait outside. He wishes to dispatch them personally. As an honour. When he comes back out, he is sprayed over with blood, and the gleaming knife drips ichor._

_With Astrid on his right and Eodwulf to his left, Caleb makes for his parent’s house. They push the cart up against the door and then stand to either side of him, waiting._

_And then, he feels the presence behind him._

_“What are you waiting for, my boy?” Ikithon asks. “Make me proud.”_

_Traitor, Caleb’s brains screams._

_Maybe, they are all traitors. Maybe…_

_“Show us what you are capable of. Do it now.”_

_“N-nein.” He shakes his head, lightheaded. “Nein. Ich kann nicht. Ich kann nicht!”_

_“Jetzt, Junge. Du mußt. Mach’ es!”_

_“Nein!” he sobs. “Nein!”_

_With that final cry, he makes a break for the cart, but hands fall on his shoulders dragging him back._

_“You will not? You defy me?” Caleb shuddered at the cold, quiet fury, his face contorting into a terrible sob and Astrid and Eodwulf hold him back. “You have not saved them, young man. You have only sealed their fate more completely. They are traitors. You reported them yourself. I’m disappointed in you.”_

_It is the last thing the Ikithon says before a globe of fire appears with ease at his fingertips and is flung without warning into the front door. “Such potential. Wasted.”_

_The smoke billows from the house like the darkest cloud in a storm. The hands on his shoulders, the gripping claws of fate digging into the flesh, pinning him, marking him, claiming him, separating him forever from the tragedy before him. He longs to run to its embrace and find himself little more than a wisp of ash lost to the sky and the stars, blocked out by the growing blanket of smoke. In the muted air, the spice of fire and burning wood sear his tongue and dam his ears and flood his eyes until they are red and scratchy from more than just his tears. The ash burns its way down his throat and coated his flaming hair in soft white brilliance._

_Against the caliginous colour of the sky, the fire leaps and grows and glows, devouring and devouring the dark into its unforgiving maw, but leaving him untouched, mustering its fever pitch as it transforms into the piercing howl that is pulled ragged from within his chest, leaving his throat raw and his lungs bleeding as the timbers of the house blackened and crumbled into char and cinder, sparking and crackling and howling right along with him. His voice is hoarse for screaming, but even though there is no sound left, he doesn’t stop. Within the skeleton structure, his soul screams too and weeps as the future emblazons itself on his heart in the form of the past there and then._

_The whistling screams are lost to the soft, scintillating whisper that chills his spine and freezes his heart, the hot breath cooling against his neck as the darkness leans down next to him and drips poison into his ear. The biting grip holds him by the back of the neck, but he has only eyes for the melting memories and scorched bones that lay in embers at his feet._

_“You did this. You killed them. You. You. You disobeyed me, and now they’re dead. Because of you.” Ikithon says._

_Caleb stands there for hours (not hours. Seconds, maybe minute), pinned like a butterfly by the five pointed daggers on his neck until the smoldering remnants of the world, his whole life, everything he was, lay like ash on the ground, and the grip releases._

_Ikithon walks away._

_The horror of it all drives him to his knees, a mock tribute to the desecration of his sacred childhood and he finds that the tears are burned from his eyes and he can no longer even weep for all that is lost. Nothing is spared._

_In his breast, his heart withers and dies, so it does not make a difference when he stands, shaky on his feet, taking a lurching step before hands are on him again. Gleaming is the blade that belongs to Death; he slips the weapon from the Eodwulf’s sheath; his own hand is Death’s as he takes it, grips it, stabs that dagger of bright, cold steel into his own chest before Wulf and Astrid can wrest it from him; they cannot hold him in place. He does not feel it when he meets the ground, pillowed by ash and bathed in blood, for he is already dead._

_Astrid and Eodwulf look down on him from above, dark, skeleton angels, faces flickering gaunt in by the light of the flame. They do not wait for Death to claim him, turning and walking away, silent in the first vestiges of dawn as the dirt soaks in his life to feed the ravaged ground anew, a stain of red against the ashy-white air, thick with the night’s last recollections as the fire burns away into nothing, leaving behind only the despoiled victims of its ravenous hunger._

_And when the snow begins to fall, cloaking the scene in the purity of the sacrifice made there that day, he is reborn in the ice and the cold, while hatred burns in the hollow chasm of his chest. They leave him, but he lives on.  He staggers to his feet and, mindless, drifts on the wind into the endless expanse of pale, grey sky over the pristine white cover of earth, leaving behind only physically the ugly scar on land, though not the one on his soul._

Caleb gasped for breath as he came to, out of the grasping confines of the memory. He couldn’t recall when he’d floated away. Real physical hands were holding him steady then, five pointed stars of pressure on either shoulder, but gentle and not demanding or restraining, and another, smaller, rubbed his back.

“It was different.” He heard himself say the words, but they were hollow, devoid of life. “It was different. I remember it differently.”

The ground was burning beneath him. He was covered in ash. All the world was ash…

“What do you remember, Caleb?”

Molly. That was Molly asking, Molly talking. He looked down. Molly’s hands on his shoulders.

“Cay? Cay did you hear him?”

And Nott. Nott was there, too.

The ash was cold. The ash wasn’t ash. The ash was snow.

Snow on cobbled stone, not on soft, ground. Snow in cold Rexxentrum, not the cozy homey-ness of Blumenthaal.

Caleb looked up. Met Molly’s eyes.

“Caleb?”

“I…” Suddenly, a burst of energy hit him as the flash of cruel steel flared in his mind’s eye again. Practically flinging Molly off of him, though not purposefully, Caleb tore open his jacket, and fussed hastily with the lacings, pushing aside his tabards for easier access until his bare flesh stung with the bitter cold as he exposed it to the air. “I did not remember. How did I not remember? I remember…I remembered it _wrong!_ ” He laughed a little hysterically, his fingers running over the raised, white scar on his chest, just a hair to the side of his heart. It skipped a beat and he laughed again, on the edge. “I-Ich…Göttern…”

“Caleb, you’re scaring me.”

And that was Molly again; the waver in his voice threw Caleb back to lucidity for just long enough to realize how he must look.

Nott and Molly were staring at him nervously.

“I remember _everything_ , so how, _how_ did I remember this wrong? I don’t-“ The burst of energy faded as rapidly as it came, leaving him sagging into Molly, who let him fall in close, running a taloned hand tenderly through his hair, murmuring so softly, Caleb couldn’t make out the words.

Nott’s hand on his back stilled. “Breathe, Caleb, please. Please, _breathe_.”

Palms trapped between their chests, Caleb could feel the contrast of the steady rise and fall of Molly’s chest, and his own, irregular, hitching breaths. Overwhelmed, he let the last tensions fade from his body and let himself fully fall, his weight pressing in on Molly, whose muscles tightened in reaction, locking himself in place, a pillar of strength unlooked for, quietly, calmly holding Caleb together.

It feels like a very long time before he finally finds the strength within himself to pull away. He’s still lightheaded, and his muscles twitch uncomfortably, but he no longer feels like he will fall apart without someone to hold him up.

“I am…I will be fine for now,” he manages. “I am sorry. I did not know…I did not know what would happen. I did not know that that would come to me. I did not know-“

But Caleb didn’t have a chance to finish speaking. Out from behind the barrels, a hard, cold hand found purchase around the back of his neck, and for a second – just a second – he is back in Blumenthaal again, Ikithon’s hand on his neck, holding him in place as he watches his home burn. The grip was tight, pushing his vision almost blurry as it dug in against a variety of pressure points.

Molly and Nott bare their teeth simultaneously at a point behind Caleb’s shoulder. He swallows, hard, and feels the creeping fear in his gut. _This is it. This is the end, for you, Widogast. You were careless and distractible and now you are caught and you will die and-_

A voice, harsh, splits the air.

“I don’t want to hurt you, okay?” The gruff tones seem more exasperated than anything else. “I’m just here to talk. I want to help you. Or, rather, I think you can help me. You hate Ikithon so much? You’d better be a bit more careful where you say it.”

Molly actually hissed and Caleb started, feeling himself tugged backwards a hair.

“Fuck, reign in your friend, would you? Seriously. We’re on the same side. I’m a monk. I work for the Cobalt Soul-“

“It was you.” Caleb’s own voice surprised him, rougher, but more steady than he’d anticipated. “It was _you_ watching me at the Archive. I was not wrong.”

“No. You weren’t.  I guess I’m not as good as I thought. I’m gonna let you go now. Are your friends going to try to fucking kill me when I do, or are you going to hear me out?”

Caleb looked between them. Nott shook her head a little, but Caleb jutted his chin out just enough and she lowered the hand that was itching at the place on her belt where she kept her weapons. Molly huffed, his nose twitching, his lips curling into a snarl before he too looked at Caleb. In his bright red eyes, against flickering lashes, Caleb saw worry, genuine fear. He inclined his head and reluctantly, Molly relaxed.

“They will not harm you, Monk.”

“Cool. They’d better fuckin’ not.”

The moment it was free, Molly and Nott reached for him, pulling him to their sides protectively, but he whirled in their grip to finally look into the face of the monk. The monk came out more completely from the shadows, pushed back her hood and crossed her arms, her face contorted into what appeared to be a permanent glower.

“Who are you?” he asked, carefully.

“I’m Beauregard, expositor of the Cobalt Soul. Taking out your old master is my current mission and I think that you might find we can be mutually, ah, beneficial, to one another.” She leveled him with her sharp gaze, a brighter colour than his own, penetrating the expression he’d so carefully taken the time to mask his emotion. “You’re motivated, you’ve done half the job for me, and I can provide information and…,” she hedged, shrugging almost casually by comparison to her previous serious and cautiously businesslike demeanour, “let’s just call it ‘support’.” The tendons in her jaw tensed and she arched a brow arrogantly.

She paused, looking between them, waiting a beat. “So. What do you say?”

Caleb felt Nott’s hand slip into his and squeeze. In his ear, he heard her whisper. “ _We’re with you, Caleb,”_ as Molly’s tail spade pressed reassuringly between his shoulder blades. _“We go where you go. If you make this alliance, we will too, but we’ll keep our eyes peeled.”_

He heaved a breath. “My name is Caleb Widogast. And if you wish to take down Trent Ikithon, you have an ally in me.”

“Good.” Beau said, the corner of her lip twitching determinedly. “We’ll be in touch. I’ll find you.”

And with that, she disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving Caleb alone with his friends, his thoughts, and his fractured memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caleb talks about his time with Trent- mentions of the gems in arms thing.  
> Astrid poisons her parents. Moderate description. Eodwulf stabs his. Minimal description.   
> Caleb watches his parents house burn, but the flashback changes, and this time, it isn't Ikithon stabbing him, it is himself. Caleb knows that it really happened.


	11. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER

10.

“A song she heard

Of cold that gathers

Like winter's tongue

Among the shadows

It rose like blackness

In the sky

That on volcano's

Vomit rise

A Stone of ruin

From burn to chill

Like black moonrise

Her voice fell still...”

 

~ Robert Fanney

 

“The snow filled the air with a soft grey-blue mist, softening the wind and gunfire, bringing the earth and sky together into one swaying blur.

The snow fell on Bach's shoulders; it was as though flakes of silence were falling on the still Volga, on the dead city, on the skeletons of horses. It was snowing everywhere, on earth and on the stars; the whole universe was full of snow. Everything was disappearing beneath it: guns, the bodies of the dead, filthy dressings, rubble, scraps of twisted iron.

This soft, white snow settling over the carnage of the city was time itself; the present was turning into the past, and there was no future.”

~  Vasily Grossman, _Life and Fate_

 

In the aftermath, they sat quietly, emotions stirring between them. Nott, being her typical self, came up to hug Caleb, and he accepted it, but Molly only watched on, a certain set to his jaw that seemed determined until Caleb very, very uneasily looked into his eyes. They were never the easiest to read, but now, with enough light, and some context to assist him, Caleb could see the worry lines around his eyes, and the nervous twitch of one finely arched brow.

From out of Nott’s embrace, Caleb put out his hand, pulling Molly’s limp one into his grasp.

“Danke, mein Freund. Thank you both. I do not know what I would do without you. I do not know how we made it so long on our own, Molly. You are…I do not deserve your loyalty. I never have.” _It isn’t an apology_ , he thought to himself. _Accept it. Please, accept it._

“You’re right,” Molly said, and Caleb swallowed hard, trying to remember that it was what he’d hoped Molly would say. “You’re right, but that’s not going to stop me. I’m with you, Caleb. Until the end.”

“You’re my boy!” Nott piped up, still squeezing round his neck. “And I love you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Thoughts betraying him, it was all Caleb could do to hope she was right.

“We…we have a lot to do, a lot to plan,” he said, finally returning Nott’s embrace one armed, the other hand still holding Molly’s hand. “But the monk was right. The streets are no place for this.” Caleb’s gaze was locked on Molly, who was looking down at their joined fingers. Molly, whom he’d allowed to live alone in the wilds for weeks. Molly, who was new to the world still, and without supplies, without any good way of defending himself…well, he was there now, and, though he’d proven what he’d said when he left – that Caleb wasn’t necessary to his survival – Caleb could do something now. “It is growing late. We should go back to the Traveller’s Way. There is not much time left, but I do not want to discuss it until we are sure we are somewhere safe. I have no reason to believe that we aren’t, but, there is always that possibility.” He swallowed his pride, biting his lower lip. “What do you think? Nott? Molly?”

“That sound reasonable to me, Cay,” Nott said, loosening her grip a bit and rocking back onto the flats of her feet.  

“Molly?” Caleb looked to him, waiting.

The tiefling looked up slowly, his fingers flexing lightly in Caleb’s grip. “You’re asking my opinion?”

“Ja.” Caleb nodded. “I am.”

A smile, the first Caleb had seen on him since before he left two weeks prior, broke across Molly’s features; it wasn’t beaming wide, but hesitant with surprise. Almost tender. “I agree. For now, we’ll be better off there.”

As Caleb stood, he felt Molly’s fingers slip from his own, felt Molly’s grip tighten reflexively before releasing slowly, almost reluctantly, allowing him to rise to his full height.

The walk was silent, but charged; they kept to the shadows, moved at a pace that avoided attention, hoods up, Caleb carrying Nott like a child to stem any suspicions. It was well into twilight when they arrived, looking around as though unfamiliar with the area before attempting to go inside. It wasn’t empty, and there was too much on the line, so they sat down in a corner together, warming up from the permeating chill.

Fjord sidled up to the table not long after they arrived. “Can I help you fol-oh. Can I _help_ you folks?” Fjord asked, a new cadence to his tone.

“A room and meals. For three.” Caleb slid the last of his coin across the table, for the sake of appearances. “If you have space, of course.”

Fjord eyed Molly, swiping the coin off the table. “Sure thing. Always space for a paying customer. Follow me, and I’ll get you a room. Food’ll be right up.

“Komm, Schatz,” Caleb said, lifting Nott again, who hid her face in his neck. Perhaps it was overboard, but it was a rouse they’d used before, and, by this point, prying eyes could very well be anywhere, especially if the Traveller’s Way was under any sort of suspicion. They wove between the tables, following Fjord to the back and all the way up the stair to a different room than the one they’d inhabited before. He stood in the hallway as first Molly filed in, and then Nott, whom Caleb had left off at the stair. Catching Caleb’s eye, Fjord gave a slight nod, before ushering him in and closing the door behind them.

Caleb waited until he could no longer hear Fjord’s heavy footfalls before speaking.

“I think he is going to bring Jester up to us, with the food. For now, we should be safe.”

But safe was relative, and they all knew that, so, after Caleb’s words fell to the mute silence of the room, they neither moved nor spoke again until a sharp rap hit the wood of the door.

“I’ve got dinner!” came Jester’s trilling tones, and Nott quickly opened the door, letting her inside. As soon as the plates were offloaded to the table, she swooped towards Molly, grabbing him by the hands and twirling. “You’re back! I was so worried! I was so-“ she twirled them so that should could catch Caleb’s eye. “- _angry._ Caleb was being an asshole. He knows better. I’m so glad you are okay! And that you came back! If I were you, I think I would have just stayed mad and made him think that-“

“Jester!” Molly put an end to her tirade just as Caleb felt the discomfort really begin to bubble in his chest at the uncensored truth in her words. “I’m glad you love me so much and I appreciate you looking out for me, but what’s between Caleb and I is just that. Between us. Yes, he was an ass, but we all know it, and we’ve had it out and now I’m ready to move on. Please.”

Something flickered in Jester’s eyes; Caleb could see it, as though she were assessing more than just Molly’s words, as though she were looking at him down to the core.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Molly?”

“Yes?”

“You’re _different_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb noticed the immediate flick-twitch of Molly’s tail, and Nott’s turn of the head, right towards him.

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Jester replied, unapologetic. “You are. But that’s okay! I still love you.”

Caleb watched as Molly’s tensed shoulders settled, though his tail’s anxious flickering didn’t cease. “Good, because I’m still me for the loving. We’re going to be staying here for a little, I think…” he trailed off, turning to Caleb for confirmation, and he could finally see the mask that sat imperfectly on Molly’s perfect face.

“Until the fifth. Until Embertide. That is when we will be poised to strike. Are you comfortable with that? This could…this could come back on you in a very bad way, if anyone were to discover that you had been harbouring me during this time.”

A hard look entered Jester’s eyes. “Don’t you worry, Caleb. I risk at lot every day,” she said, holding up her hands. “Look at this place! Look at me. I named my inn after an illegal god. I’m a tiefling living in the capital city of ‘Fuck-You-If-You’re-Not-Human’. I can handle it, Caleb. And if we have to leave after this, if you succeed and we have to all flee the city in the middle of the night, at least we’ll be leaving it a better place. We can go south, you know? To my Mama! I’ve really wanted her to meet Fjord, after all, and I know she’d just love all of you!”

Caleb glanced down at Nott just in time to see his friend’s face twitch, but he filed it away for later, when the time was right. When things were…Calmer? Different?

 _There might not be an ‘after’_ , Caleb reminded himself. He sighed. _They could die. They could all die._

“Thank you, Jester. You are too good of a friend, sometimes,” Caleb settled on. “We will be as careful as we are able. There is someone else. Someone new. A monk. I believe, at least in this, she can be trusted. That does _not_ mean you should go blabbing about the Traveller to her.”

Jester narrowed her eyes suspiciously, letting go of Molly’s hands to stalk determinedly towards Caleb. “Cay-leb? Are you trying to tell me that _I can help?!_ ” She asked, her expression transitioning from serious to elated back to determined in less time that Caleb could take to open his mouth to object to the volume level of her question.

“Ah, ja, Jester. I am asking you to help, at little, at least, if you are interested. And able. I am so close to this. And it is not my choice to keep you out. It is your choice to help or not. I do not have to like it for it to be so.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Caleb?” she joked, smiling, as she put her hands on his shoulders. “I can tell you don’t like it, but thank you, Caleb. Fjord and I both were going to help, you know, regardless. Ikithon makes this place bad for all of us. And he hurt you, besides. Even if he wasn’t making things bad, you know we would help, right? Don’t you, Caleb?”

He did.

“Bring Fjord by later. We will plan then, and when the monk comes around, we will ask her what she thinks and adapt from there.”

Molly grinned viciously. “We have an Empire to topple.”

* * *

A rapping at the window jolted Caleb from his sleep. Molly’s red eyes were glowing, a beacon in the dark, obviously awoken from his sleep as well. Beside him, suddenly, a pair of yellow eyes were glowing too, to an unsettling effect. Caleb crawled out from the bed and went to the window where the dark, though moderately familiar shape of the Monk was perched.

In through the window she clambered, throwing off her hood the minute she was inside. Caleb shut the pane rapidly, stemming the influx of wintery air.

“Fucking hells, took you long enough. It’s cold as _fuck_ out there. It’s Caleb, right?” She asked, almost as brisk and the wind. “And I don’t know who you guys are, creepy glowing eyes over there. Fuck, that’s freaky.” She shook herself off and a light dusting of snow drifted to the floor. Beau plopped herself down on Caleb’s bed. “Alright. Let’s get down to business. You want to get rid of this fucker, right? I want to do that, too. It’s basically my job. I’ve got information, you’ve got information, let’s see what we can get out of it, capisce?”

Despite her abrasive nature, the Monk somehow managed to wrangle a smile out of Caleb. “Ja, I am Caleb. These are Mollymauk and Nott. And you are…Beauregard.”

“Yeah. ‘M Beau.”

“You were listening then?” Caleb asked. “To my story? You know who I am, my history, the information that I am privy to?”

“Yes, that’s why I approached you.” She gave him a sharp look. “You’ve already got a plan, haven’t you?”

“I have the beginnings of a plan, ja. It is rudimentary in nature.” He began, a little reluctant, but Beau seemed eager and honest, and her brash nature would have no doubt irked Ikithon to the point of simple violence. And she’d had a chance to kill him already, potentially (likely) more than once, or to arrest him, take him to people who would have paid good money to kill him themselves. And she hadn’t.

Watching her carefully, he continued. “We are poised to strike on Embertide, when he is at the ceremony. I know where he will be seated, I know the placements of the guards, I know the back-up locations, I know which rooms they will be sequestered in, and they can be incapacitated there, so that the cavalry will not come running. I will take him out as he leaves, on the way back to the tower, when they are least expecting it. When they are most confident that everything is going their way, that no one has yet made a move. We will make our way into the tower, positioned so that, when he arrives, I can spring the trap, and we will be sufficiently prepared to escape just as they recognize what has been done.” Caleb narrated. “Nott and Molly will be with me. I know the plans exactly as Prelate Qiulen laid them out, I do not think anything has changed; I have been monitoring their communications as best as I am able.”

Beau nodded. “Good. I know who of the Master Wizards and Guild Mages will be in the tower that day.” She grinned, baring her teeth in a way that almost reminded Caleb of Molly – feral, gleeful. The smile of a predator closing in on prey. (Once, Caleb knew, he too wore that same smile. Sometimes, he feared he still did.) “Neither of Ikithon’s favourite lackeys will be there, and something tells me you can handle any of his runners yourself.”

“Lackeys?” Caleb asked, carefully hopeful.  

“Yeah. Meier and that bitch they call the Verrückt Vogel behind her back.”

_Astrid._

“I sincerely hope that Astrid does not know that there are people calling her that, or I imagine she would have them very quickly and efficiently executed for some infarction or another.”

“Astrid?” Molly’s voice held a curious tone. “Who is Astrid?”

“Once, she was my lover, but there was never any real love between us.” Almost amazed, Caleb noticed that he felt no pain admitting it. They’d used and abused one another and Eodwulf to boot, broken, manipulated children who had no one else to turn to, and few others to satisfactorily take out their pain and anger on. “Now, I assume, she is Ikithon’s Red Right Hand, ja?”

Beau was watching him with particular care, something to her gaze that spoke of knowledge unshared, but Caleb didn’t press her. As it was, he could feel the holes boring into his back from Nott and Molly’s twin stares. Though the words felt like second nature to him, he knew that the information likely came as a surprise to them both, especially Molly, who knew little more than that Ikithon had murdered his parents.

“Yeah, she is. She and Meier both are. Vogel handles the more, err, clinical stuff, if you will. Meier’s the more personable of the two. But they’re both scheduled to be with him at the ceremony that day, so you’d be in the clear. Would they recognize you, if they saw you?”

Caleb thought back to that moment in the temple, when he thought she would look. But he was nothing like he’d been, a shadow of his former self and she’d looked through him instead of at him, and hadn’t seen him at all in the process.

“They will recognize me when it matters. I am…much changed. But not that much.”

Beau nodded. “Alright. After Ikithon is gone, the Order and I can handle them. It’s Ikithon we really need out of the way right now. We get him, everyone else is easy money. Can you take him, just the three of you?”

Loath to tell her everything, Caleb hesitated, but it was enough to tip her off. Beau raised an eyebrow to accompany her unimpressed glare. Caleb cleared his throat. “He is very powerful, but so I am. In addition to the element of surprise, we…we have two more for back up, just in case. We are well prepared. I have been waiting for this for a _long_ time.”

“Alright, you’re motivated, but are you going to be reckless? Emotional?”

“Nein. I can handle this. I have to, or he will escape. I am prepared. I am capable.” Caleb was starting to grow tired of her skeptical look, of her questioning. It made him nervous. “Do not think that I have not considered those factors. I will not let him unsettle me. _I_ will unsettle _him_ ,” he said, more confidently than he felt. “He believes I am dead, at least, as far as I know, he does. If we do this right, he will be blind to our plot completely. And if he does get a hint, he will not suspect someone so familiar with his proclivities.”

“If you’re sure.” Beau nodded, seemingly accepting of his reassurance. “Alright. My turn. Back-up plan, you know, just in case something goes wrong, because when don’t things go wrong, right?”

Nott and Caleb exchanged grimaces. “Something like that.”

“I know a back way into the tower.”

Caleb outright laughed. “I doubt that.”

“I do. I swear I do. I’ve used the damned thing.”

Disbelieving, he shook his head. “No, if there were, I’d have found it long, long ago. I _lived_ in that tower. I know it by heart. My magic would have found any such mystical entera-“

“It’s not magical,” Beau said, crossing her arms. “That’s why you never found it. You damned mages. Everything is magic with you. You’d think you wouldn’t be able to find your asses without it. Gods. You’re a wizard, right?”

“Ja.” Caleb gave her a derisive look. “I am perfectly capable of finding my ass, thank you.”

“You got paper?”

“Of course I have paper, I am a wizard.” He said, pulling out his bag. “What do you need it for? It is not cheap and I am not rich.”

“To draw you a map.”

“I do not need a map.” Caleb stated archly. “I have my memory and it is…perfect.”

The moment from earlier that day rushed back to him almost violently, how the memory changed and altered as he was remembering it, as if he had never remembered it differently at all. The ease of it frightened him, but he put it aside.

“Just tell me where it is and how to find it and it will be done,” he demanded, finally, unsure if he was more displeased at his own nerves, or at the monk’s keen perception of them.

She rolled her eyes. “And what about your friends, string bean and small fry over there? They gonna be able to remember if you’re not around?”

“I trust Caleb.”

He thought that it would be Nott. The words came and went and Caleb was almost certain that it was Nott. But the voice was wrong. The cadence was off.

It was Molly.

He stepped forward. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. But I know Caleb. And we’re both quick on the uptake. If you explain and Caleb knows what’s going on, then that’s good enough for me.”

Caleb couldn’t tear his gaze away. Dumbfounded, he stood agape as Molly stood up to the belligerent monk, his chin jutting out with firm determination. After everything he had done, after everything had had said, Molly was standing up for him.

“Fine. It’s you’re choice.” Beau rolled her eyes. “Plan B is just plan B anyways.”

Dutifully, Caleb listened as the explained, begrudgingly adding the location of the door to his mental map. “You got all that?” Beau asked, her voice harsh but not unkind. “This isn’t just about you anymore. This is about a hell of a lot more than that. We get Ikithon, then my Order can really start instigating some change. He’s got too much power. Some of them don’t know it. Some of them do.” Suddenly, it seemed her attention was diverted, she pointed back into the blackness of the room and Caleb turned to follow her focus. Yet another pair of eyes glowed in the dark. Cat’s eyes. Frumpkin. “Ormid Haas?” Beau said, and Caleb _almost_ deadpanned a singular ‘no. that is Frumpkin.’ But his sense of humour wasn’t quite as lively as it had been before. He was getting tired of it all. Tired and short tempered. “He likes cats. Maybe you can use that to your advantage. Distract him at least, though from all the intel I’ve gathered, he doesn’t seem to be one who would side with Ikithon. Ves Derogna could go either way. She’s powerful, but I’m not so sure that Ikithon’s in her good books. They go back and forth. You know how it is.”

Caleb nodded, thinking of Astrid. He knew exactly how it was. “Ja, and there is Doolan Terversky and yet others more, older and more powerful in the Arcane than Ikithon; his power is political, his power is in his students. He used to say ‘the more people who follow you, the more powerful you are.’” Caleb quoted, running a finger along the coarse wood of the bed knob. “Can you do that? Can you cut him off from his students? Already being without Astrid and Wulf will help, but his young runners, like that Julian, they are ones would could prove a problem. They are eager. Willing to die for him.”

Like Caleb had been. Once, Caleb would have done anything for the man. Caleb would have endured any amount of torture, of horrors. ( _You did,_ Caleb reminded himself. _You did._ ) His arms itched beneath their wraps, old scars reminding him of themselves, of their origins, long ago, of a time when Ikithon asked if he would be willing to suffer for power? For the empire? For Ikithon himself? And Caleb had said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation.

( _The fire under his skin as the gems slivers were embedded, flaring, flaming, worse than being burned alive, being burned instead from within…)_

“Don’t worry about the kiddos. I guess you didn’t hear.” Beau said, pushing herself up from the bed for the first time since she arrived. “They’re going to be marching in with the Old Bastard himself.” Blank looks from Nott and Molly caused her to sigh dramatically. “Dwendal. I’m talking about Dwendal. It’s this ‘great honour’. They’ll march him all the way back to the castle. Youy said you’re seen the plans-“

“I did not say that.” Caleb rebutted quickly. “I never said I had seen them.”

“Right. Sorry. But it was you, wasn’t it? You were the one who broke into Prelate Quilen’s office? Not to, like, assume anything, but it seems likely…”

Caleb didn’t deign to reply.

“Whatever. Anyways, they hopped up Dwendal’s security after that. I guess they thought it was a plot against him and not anyone else. He ‘requisitioned’” - she actually lifted her hands to finger quote the word - “Ikithon’s students as well as a whole slew of our monks to his own protection. Ikithon wasn’t happy about that.”

“And how do you know, aside from what I would imagine to be an accurate assumption, that Ikithon is unhappy?” Caleb pressed, stalking closer to her, subconsciously straightening his back and stiffening his features.

“I’m a spy, Widogast. It’s what I do. I found you out, didn’t I?” The question was met only by empty silence. “I’m embedded within the tower,” she admitted eventually. “Hear all evil, see all evil, report on all evil, get the picture?”

“Ja.”

“Good.” Beau pushed herself up off the bed. “I trust you guys know what you’re capable of. I’ll meet up with you again before the celebration so we can coordinate. Until then, don’t look for me. I’ll find you.”

She went out the window as she had come, leaving an interesting silence in her wake.

Nott looked around. Grimaced.

“Well shit.”

Mentally, Caleb agreed with her.

* * *

**5** ** th ** **of Duscar**

**EMBERTIDE**

Molly was pacing. He couldn’t help the nerves as he waited for Caleb to come out into the hall. Already, the whole of the city seemed to have picked up and left, gathering for the ceremony. Caleb had explained, upon questioning, that Embertide was one of but few sanctioned holidays in the Dwendalian Empire. Though it was not one that Zemni, in the decade prior to its subsumption by the Imperials, had been particularly dedicated to celebration. Apparently, the majority of Zemni had been agricultural before Dwendal’s anscestors moved in, owing much of their religious bent to figures such as Pelor and Melora. It was the Empire who had risen Rexxentrum to a city of grandeur and might, they who had brought outside gods and banned some of those already worshiped. Caleb, with no small degree of disdain, described the reasoning to Molly when he, ever so cautiously the night before, had asked about the Moonweaver.

Controlling the gods a people worshiped meant controlling the people. And that was the main goal of the Empire, and the Cerberus Assembly, who truly ruled it.

“I am afraid,” Caleb had said. “That the goddess you have chosen for yourself is not one you will find welcome here.”

The flash of broken memory then resurface in his mind and Molly had only nodded. He’d thought as much.

Now, outside the grandest building, save the palace itself, a throng of people were no doubt at that very moment wading into the space to be seated, to listen to the illustrious and power mad among them give zealous speeches to incense the blindly shepherded crowd. For all Molly knew, he, Caleb and Nott may have been the last people left outside the fourth tier. Jester and Fjord had already left, taking their positions, just in case, and the gods only knew where Beauregard was sequestered.

She unnerved and annoyed Molly, not because of her deeply uncharismatic demeanour, but more because of the keen eye she turned towards Caleb and towards himself. Yet, for all that he wanted to dislike her, all he could manage was to be thankful that she’d come to them at all. The world didn’t seem so dark, nor their prospects of surviving so dim, with more people on their side.

All day, Molly felt the nervous itch of desire under his skin. Desire to be truthful. More than once he’d seen Caleb and Nott watching him in a different manner than before, though they never said a word; the goal, which once seemed so far away and so impossible, was closing on them, and they couldn’t afford to build strife between members of their little group. So they’d kept to watching him, suspiciously.

And while they did, Molly maintained his mental war, back and forth on the subject. What did it matter that he now knew who he was anyways? They had accepted him before, they had no reason not to accept him in his new state. But then he would remember that Caleb and Nott had long been demeaned on the edges of society, and that his knew knowledge could appear an affront to the solidarity they’d shared, though, it seemed unlikely that they thought him someone of a higher class – tieflings, it seemed, were not capable of such a feet in Rexxentrum. Something told Molly that he had Ikithon to blame for that.

But there was one more truth that he still hid, deep down in his heart, a truth that Molly suspected would have far greater consequences than even those that the truth of his identity would bear out.

Love was funny, Molly decided. As ignorant, selfish Lucien, he’d desired. Desired to have Caleb’s beauty, his attention, his devotion, desired that his happiness belong to Lucien, and his kindness directed in his path.

As Mollymauk alone, he desired as well. Desired attention, yes, but in a different way than Lucien had. Not attention for the sake of attention, or beauty for the sake of beauty, but for to fill the emptiness that had resided within him. He’d needed tenderness and sought it out in Caleb’s presence. He was safety and kindness, and Molly gravitated towards that until it became clear he’d had only a shallow understanding.

His memories, and the power of the past week’s difficulties had come to change all of that. Caleb was so much more than he’d estimated from his limited knowledge. He was more than just a beautiful face, more than his magic, more than his anger, more than his kindness. He was more than his past, more than the shallow shell Lucien had built up in his mind, or the polarizing personality that had introduced Mollymauk to the world.

Caleb was real and full of fire and life and vibrance, but he also had within him darkness and defeat and danger.

Whatever Caleb was, Molly knew that he loved him. He loved him in spite of his faults, and for his kindnesses, he loved him because he understood him, not completely – perhaps never completely – but enough. Molly loved Caleb like real people loved; without a golden halo of perfection to surround the object of his design, but rather with a deep devotion. And, Molly found, he realized he didn’t need to feel that devotion back. To be with him was enough. To have been with him would always be enough.

The only fear that remained, was the fear that his new self, this self that understood the world, would still be stripped away from him completely and he would be alone, and conceited and ignorant, kept like the spoilt child whose company none desired, and whose self-growth would be stunted by his mistresses’ fear that he might be ripped from their coddling grasp for good by the destructive and vicious forces for hate that Caleb’s Archmage Ikithon so embodied.

But none of that kept him from feeling a terrible prickle of insane jealousy whenever Mage Astrid Vogel was mentioned in his hearing.

_Once, she was my lover, but there was never any real love between us._

At first, his heart had jumped and seared at the words possessively, but then, as Caleb finished speaking, as he heard the bitter tone creep in, he thought of the way Caleb had told his tale, how Astrid had treated him, and the jealousy lessened. Caleb did not love her still, but she had taken from him in ways that Molly could not condone and he wanted to hate her for it, and yet, for all the terrible things that Caleb had said about her, and about Eodwulf and their time in Ikithon’s service, all he could see was another twisted child under one power mad mage’s thumb.

He did not envy her, for Caleb had never been hers to have. And Caleb wasn’t his to have either, he reminded himself. Caleb was his own, and belonged to himself. Astrid had never earned Caleb’s love and neither had he.

But Caleb had proven that he’d earned Molly’s love already, more times over than imaginable. He’d apologized, to be sure, and that would have been a start, but he’d also ceased to treat Molly like little more than a nuisance, instead asking his opinion as he had always done with Nott, according him the basic decency of a say in where he went and what he did. He stopped to listen to Molly, thanked him, respected him in his actions, as well as in words. Caleb had done more than just apologize. He’d shown that he recognized his mistakes, and had actually changed his ways.

Molly had even caught Nott smiling at him whenever Caleb so much as said ‘thank you’ for passing the meats tray.

And yet, it didn’t mean Caleb loved him.

So Molly stayed silent and waited. Duscar came upon them in the night while they hatched their plans with Beauregard in the dark and two months was plenty of time when five days was all he had to wait before everything would be over and done with, and then, then he’d pursue the opportunity. Then he would go to Caleb, take his hand gingerly and confess to him all the truth which he contained. His origin, his names, his love, and his bargain.

Then, they would both be free.

Then, maybe, Caleb would look at him differently.

But Molly pushed those rose-hazy thoughts away and placed his hands at his hips where hung his newly sharpened scimitars, gifts from Fjord – they were real and not made of carnival glass, and sharper than Molly’s tongue when he was angry. They would do their duty, igniting with ice and light from the taste of his blood, singing the magic within his veins to life in the mortal realm, the Moonweaver’s blessing gone with him when he would.

* * *

A soft snow drifted down from the blanket of grey clouds. From the balustrade of the tower, the Archmage, his hands clasped behind his back studiously, surveyed the growing crowd below, how they milled and whiled about, calling and making a fuss, a ravenous crowd of hundreds, all ready to hear the speeches and watch the parade of militaristic might. A crowd ready to be told of an enemy in the east, and the plan to defend against them. Over his thin lips, a smiled slithered, and he watched them before turning from the balcony and back into his offices. A step down from his desk, Eodwulf stood waiting, back straight, his cream coloured ceremonial robes, chest emblazoned with the red emblem of the Unterlagen-Behörde.

“Master Ikithon, the crowd is being funneled through the proper channels and the honour guard has been dispatched to the palace gates to await Emperor Dwendal.” He reported with a smart click of practical boots.

“Excellent, Eodwulf. Excellent. And there has been no discrete activity? Nothing beyond the usual?” There was, after all, always some little rebellion to be squashed here and there. Routine, paltry nonsense. Mice in the kingdom of Lions.

“Nothing, Master. Everything is proceeding as planned. Prelate Quilen is waiting on you.”

“Good, good. Anything on that missive from the camp at the boarder? I want to deal with those Xhorhaasians immediately.”

“Yes, Master. I have retrieved their response from your new runner.” Eodwulf gestured to the desk, his robes lifting to reveal the bandolier of daggers that he always wore. More than one shone with a particularly significant glow, the indicator of arcane defense. They were but happenstance to Ikithon, who hummed lightly by way of response, looking to and from the scroll as though generally disinterested, despite his earlier profession. The reminder of Julian soured his self-satisfied smirk, and it relaxed to a sneer as other thoughts flitted through his mind, and old, old dissatisfactions arose.

“Eodwulf?” he called, tone deceptively light.

“Yes, Herr Ikithon?”

“What will it be this year?” There was no need to specify the subject of the inquiry. Eodwulf knew exactly what it was he was asking.

“Seventeen years, Herr Ikithon.”

“Hmmm.” As always, Eodwulf waited, impassive and patient, the passing reference to his dead friend nonwithstanding. He and Astrid knew where they stood, second best even still to Ikithon’s greatest disgrace. Without warning, Ikithon switched subjects. “Is Dwendal still concerned about that mishap with the plans?”

“The honour guard reassures him, Herr Ikithon. He is no more distressed than the usual, at present.”

“Good. That is good.” Outside, a trumpet sounded. Ikithon folded his arms within his billowing sleeves, the robe’s white-gold sheen shimmering in what little sun caught through the grey light. “Well. We had best be off, had we not?”

“Yes, Master.”

Ikithon smiled again.

There was work to be done.

* * *

“You will be best there, I think, yes, Nott? Like we discussed?” Molly heard Caleb asking out of the corner of his mouth. Security was high, but magic was necessary and Caleb quite skilled at going unnoticed and unseen. Unlike Molly, but Jester had done some work on him to make him look a little less obvious at first glance. At least, from under the hood, he wasn’t quite so obvious. They moved together, along the edge of the crowd, more slowly than either of them would have liked, but no guards looked twice in their direction.

Molly’s heart thudded hard and thick with blood. He could hear it almost louder than the crowd as they filed into the space set aside for the ceremony. He bit his lip with one sharp tooth, licking a little and the tiny pinprick of blood that welled up, his tail spade tapping anxiously against his leg, where it was wound, out of sight.

Whatever response Nott gave, Molly could not hear, for it returned to Caleb through magical means, but Molly trusted Caleb. They’d scouted out the location over the past week, they’d discussed every possible avenue they’d been able to think of, had run every manner of scheme verbally in the dim light of their room at the Traveller’s Way.

It was come to this. The final chance.

He trusted Caleb. He did.

“Jester and Fjord are in place. Nott is ready to go. You know where you are going?” Caleb asked him, and Molly nodded firmly.

“Yes. I do. I wait for you to give me the signal.”

The truth itched under his tongue. _Say something, say something, you don’t know if-_

But Caleb was already nodding. “Good. Then we are set. I will see you on the other side of this, Mollymauk.”

“Molly,” Molly said, just stopping himself short of reaching out for Caleb. “You’re my friend. And my name is Molly.” _Tell him!_

Caleb fixed him with clear, cool eyes. “I will see you on the other side, Molly. Good luck.”

In the next breath, Caleb was swallowed by the crowd.

Molly set his jaw.

There was work to do.

 

The ceremony was boring to say the least, and long too boot, but at least he wasn’t freezing in the cold anymore; from Molly’s vantage point, he could hear the boom of a sallow voice, and, considering the location, the back of the head that matched it. When Trent Ikithon had stood from his place amongst the Assembly members, Molly had to fight off the urge to blood curse him on sight.

Ikithon was a thin, gaunt looking fellow; for all his finery he looked all too skeletal, like his waxy, yellowed skin was stretched just a little too think over his face. Thin lips were accompanied by a longish, generally well kept beard of a displeasing murky grey colour. The Archmage kept his hair long too. It was straight, the same dusty grey colour with a few streaks of white, though even the white was yellowish by comparison to the snow white hair on some of the more elderly individuals in the crowd. Tall (he must have had a few inches at least on Caleb and Molly, who were roughly the same height, give or take an inch) and long limbed, Molly almost expected him to have all the grace of a gangly newborn fawn, or a teenager, for that matter. It was not the case. Almost eerily, Ikithon appear to move across the dais weightlessly. At the pulpit, even in the center of the massive room, he seemed larger than life, and for just a few moments, Molly could almost understand the Caleb of yesteryear, little more than a child, peering up at the daunting figure, more godlike than the Emperor himself, and being told he would be favoured and powerful.

No wonder Caleb turned out as he had.

The majority of the speech was lost on Molly. He didn’t know what a Xhorhaas was, or a Crick, or foreign invaders, or ‘kid-napping’– the last one seemed like it ought to be much more pleasant that it was made out – and Ikithon spoke of Bahamut’s grace and his sterling vengeance against those who were found to be evil wrongdoers, who used ‘arcane designs’ to their personal whim.

The one thing Molly understood completely was that Ikithon was full of shite. It made sense now, taking children, showing them favour and power, keeping them and the rest of the populous under his thumb by making himself the only source and distributor of information.

Eventually, another member of the Assembly stood and gave a speech as well, to similar effect. The crowd was respectfully silent, save when prompted, though only a few seemed to wear particularly zealous expressions. Disgusted, Molly fought off the urge to roll his eyes, or to come out swinging in equal turns. More than ever, he wanted things to go according to Caleb’s plan.

But the plan was already off the rails. That morning, in the place where Beau had last informed them she’d be waiting, they hadn’t seen her at all. Though none of them mentioned it, Molly was almost sure that they were all thinking the same thing: either she’d been caught, or she’d been using them the entire time. Whichever of the two was the truth didn’t much matter. Either way, something was already gone wrong and they couldn’t afford to change the plan, especially since the back-up had been Beau’s to begin with. She may have given them up, or set them up, hoping they’d switch when she didn’t show. Molly hoped it was the former at any rate; he liked her just enough to hope she wasn’t complicit.

Leaning his back up against the wall, Molly looked out across the crowd for any sign of Caleb. He saw nothing, which was of course a rather good thing, considering. No sign of Nott either. Right on the dot, as the speaker changed and the crowd clapped, the guard changed.

In his ear, Molly head Caleb’s voice. “Go now.”

Molly turned, without sparing even a final glance for Ikithon and went. As he reached the door, he heard the final trumpets sounding. Casually following the plan as Caleb had laid it out in his head, Molly walked past the room where the extra guards, the ones meant to exchange for the Assembly’s current entourage, were sitting in wait. All Molly had to do was block them out.

Only one guard was stationed outside the door. From around the corner, Molly reached out a steady hand and _pulled._ The man twitched. Blinked. Blinked again. Rubbed his eyes. Satisfied, but not wanting to let him go too much longer, Molly crept up behind him, flipping the sword in his hand and brought the pommel down hard at the back of the guard’s head. He crumpled, Molly only just catching him in time. He pulled the guard’s body behind one of the decorative tapestries, pulling at it a little to better disguise the body.

Looking both ways down the hall first, just in case anyone had heard, Molly saw no one and got to work. With the tool that Nott had given him, he jammed the doorknob shut and then dragged a bench over, settling it so that it would impede any move to open the door. Then, he made for the stair.

All the while, his thoughts continued to slip back to Caleb, who was at that moment, with any luck, positioning himself on the opposite side of the exit where Molly was heading. Where they guards were supposed to meet them, but would fail to arrive. Where they would meet Ikithon. Where they would kill him.

His stomach muscles clenching, tail twitching with nervous energy, Molly climbed atop the wall and hunkered down, waiting, poised. Everything was coming together. Everything would be fine. And when Ikithon was dead, Molly would explain and everything would continue to be fine and maybe Caleb would fall for him and maybe he wouldn’t have to cease to be Molly and maybe-

The sound of oncoming feet pulled Molly from his spiraling thought. There was the procession. There were the students, in their vermillion tabards, and behind them the war mages, decked in navy and maroon, and then the Master Wizard-

“No. No, _fuck!_ ” Molly hissed under his breath. Beau had said they would be gone. Beau had told them that neither of the Master Wizards would be there, but based on the description Caleb had given of their uniform, cream robes, the red embroidered emblem…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Molly swore. His tail tapped rapidly at his leg from his hiding place, but no message came from Caleb or Nott. If something happened to them, he wouldn’t know, and if they couldn’t see Eodwulf Meier from their angles, Molly wouldn’t be able to alert them. Flaw in the plan exposed by the unforeseen circumstance, all Molly could do was wait.

He didn’t wait long.

A cry went up. It was Eodwulf, who had halted in the middle of the walkway.

“Burn!” Eodwulf shouted in Zemnian and Molly saw Ikithon’s sharp, predatory gaze snap to where Eodwulf was looking up along the wall. Molly followed suit.

Caleb, hand outstretched, fingers and lips moving in concert, stood at the very place where Eodwulf was focused. Molly saw as Caleb heard the word ring out, and he lost focus for just a moment – a moment long enough that Eodwulf was able to shoot off a spell a half a second before Caleb. An orb of shining energy just caught Caleb in the shoulder, blowing him back against the side of the building rising up behind the wall. It exploded into crackling fingers of electricity, catching the wall almost as much as Caleb, whose muscles contracted under the attack, his face contorting in a mix of pain and rage.

The minute Caleb came back to himself, Molly could see the light dawn in his eyes as he looked out across the contracting phalanx of mages around the members of the assembly and realized that it was over before it had begun. Without another moment of hesitation, Caleb turned and ran, jumping recklessly off the wall. Eodwulf, like a hound let off-leash, followed him.

In that split second, Molly made a decision. He hopped off the wall, rolling as he hit the ground and rounded the corner, taking off after Eodwulf. Feet pounding the pavement in matching rhythm with his heart, Molly ignored everything behind him. A noise rose up, and then a cry and the sound of the group following their progress ceased. Nott, it seemed, was playing her own roll, and Molly wouldn’t let her down. Wouldn’t let her boy be hurt any more.

Redoubling his efforts, Molly picked up the pace, following the swishing cream fabric as it glided behind the Master Wizard. People gasping and cried out as the three darted through the fringes of the departing crowd, rounding on the main entrance as they were. Molly could hardly see Caleb; only a flash here or there of fiery red hair, let Molly know that he was still on the move. And Eodwulf was gaining on him.

Shoving a young woman out of the way, Molly lunged, just missing Eodwulf’s tabards with his hand. The crowd was growing and, as the obstacles stacked, they slowed down. And then, abruptly, Caleb went down.

It felt like everything turned slow, as though the spell had been cast on the whole world. Eodwulf slowing up, stalking over to Caleb, kicking out to roll the wizard, his robes still smoking from the lightning to the side. The Master Wizard pressed one foot down firmly onto Caleb’s sternum and reached a hand into his robes. The people kept moving, filling the space between Molly and the others, and he called out Caleb’s name helplessly, his hood falling back to reveal his face. Uncaring, Molly reached for one of his swords, sliding it from its sheath and whipping it back to draw it instinctively across the back of his neck. As he brought it down, it erupted in a cold glow. He pushed past two, three, five more people, until he stood behind them, Eodwulf over Caleb with a drawn, gleaming dagger, Caleb prone and pinned, panting helplessly in pain and exhaustion. Through the noise of the crowd, Molly once more heard guards approaching.

If Eodwulf was speaking, or simply waiting silently, Molly didn’t know. Shoulder checking a burly half-elf out of his way, Molly lifted the blade, brought forth the second, and in two sharp movements, no more than a sew seconds apart, Molly arches the blades, cursed Eodwulf in his native tongue and drove the dual swords into his back at a diagonal, the sick squelch of blood and tissue as they parted for the cold steel of Molly’s blades leaving several to point and scream in terror.

With a little extra tug, Molly pulled his swords back out. Momentarily, Eodwulf’s form lingered in standing over Caleb and then, with a gurgle, he sunk down and toppled, just to Caleb’s side.  Molly slid the gore covered swords back into his belt. He kicked Eodwulf off of Caleb and then reached down, lifting the wizard bodily. A few flecks of Eodwulf’s blood spotted his pale face, the rest soaking into his robes.

“We have to go!” Molly cried, but Caleb’s face was blank with shock. “Caleb! Now! They’re coming! We have to run!” There was no response. Once more, Molly swore. He could hear the clattering of armour then, growing louder and louder. “There’s time for this later,” Molly said, and he reached back to strike Caleb across the face. With a gasp, he came to, but didn’t move, disoriented. Grabbing Caleb by the collar, Molly turned and pulled, plunging finally into the safe obscurity of the crowd, leaving behind Eodwulf’s body to be trampled by the frantic, panicking mob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I have finished writing, and chapter 11 will go up yet this week after edits. After that, you will see posted an 'OST' chapter. There may or may not be an epilogue sometime in the nebulous future, depending.


	12. 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this long haul. This is your reward, and Caleb's and Molly's.  
> Thank you to Captain_Sparklefingers, my beta and dear friend. 
> 
> I would like to just remind all of you that this is a Happy Ending. 
> 
> The last 'chapter' that will go up in a few minutes is the OST, behind the scenes and a surprise or two! I hope you all enjoy.

11.

 

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

~ Robert Frost

 

The cold earth slept below;

        Above the cold sky shone;

And all around,

With a chilling sound,

From caves of ice and fields of snow

The breath of night like death did flow

Beneath the sinking moon.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley,  _ The Cold Earth Slept Below _

 

Only when they reached a dark alley way and Molly had hauled Caleb down into the corner with him, did he finally feel like they could breath. The light snow was still drifting down on them from above, but where they were hidden was relatively sheltered. Molly’s mind was racing almost as fast as Caleb’s breath. The man clung to him, their foreheads pressed together. Against his cheek, Molly could feel the warmth of Caleb’s breath. Even the throbbing sensation of the vein in Caleb’s temple was transferred to Molly. Holding Caleb steady by the shoulders, Molly waited until Caleb stopped shaking before he pulled back a bit.

“What do we do?”

Caleb had his eye pressed closed, but at Molly’s words, he swallowed and opened them.

“Plan B,” he said, wincing as he clutched his side. “I need Jester. This…is painful.”

“Where are we supposed to meet them?” Molly asked, but Caleb only shook his head.

“One of…one of the spots…from before. All of us…there… Nott too…”

“What about the monk? Beau?”

Heavily, Caleb leaned back into Molly, and did not respond.

“Caleb?” he whispered, pulling back a little, but Caleb was breathing shallowly on his shoulder, unmoving. Molly worried his lip between his teeth.  After everything, this was not how he had expected his time with Caleb to end.

Molly squeezed his eyes shut, sending a prayer up to the Matron and the Moonweaver, and then, looked upwards, opening his eyes to the grey cover of the sky. There was only one thing left to do while he waited.

“Yasha?” He called out softly in the dead emptiness of the alley. “Yasha, are you there? Can you hear me?” She had said to call, if he needed her. And if he ever needed her, it was now. “Yasha, please, we may need your help. Will you come? Come to Rexxentrum, come to my aid? To Caleb’s aid? If you will, if you can hear me,  _ please _ , send me a sign. A thunder crack, a shot of lightening, a dark rolling cloud. Anything? Please? I love you, and I know you love me. I won’t ever ask for much, but I’m asking for this. Please help us. I’ve chosen this life, for as long as I’m able to have it. Right now, I’m not sure that it’s going to be long. Please, help me keep it. Please give me that chance.”

The moments that passed seemed endless and still. Flakes caught in his lashes, blurring his vision, but he didn’t blink, didn’t brush it away. Only waited.

A gentle breeze caressed his cheek and through his hair, blowing back the lock that hung over his forehead, between his horns. Lightning split the sky and a rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath his feet. When the snow turned to rain, Molly let out a soundless laugh to accompany his tears of relief. And, when he felt a hand land on his shoulder and squeeze, he didn’t jump, lash out with his new, volatile magic. All he did was look over his shoulder and smiled.

Yasha stood behind them, blocking all light from the alleyway. Slowly the rain turned back to snow, but the dark clouds did not go away and thunder continued to rumble in the distance.

“Yasha, please, Caleb needs help.”

Stoic, she folded her incredible wings behind her and the dissipated into the ether as she took Caleb from Molly, laying him in her lap. Putting both of her hands on the charred portion of his jacket, Yasha pressed a cold white light into Caleb’s side. The light faded and Caleb gasped, his breath ragged as his eyes flickered open.

Yasha must have been the first thing he saw, because he immediately tried to sit up, eyes going wide and expression nervous.

“Caleb!” Molly whispered, and the man looked to him immediately. “It’s alright. This is Yasha. She’s…she’s a friend. She’s going to help us. She healed you, Caleb.” He reached a hand gingerly for Caleb, but he shot out a hand and caught Molly’s forearm instead, using it as leverage to help himself sit.

“So you are Caleb?” Yasha asked, her tone almost bland.

“Ja, I am Caleb. How do you know Molly?”

“We met while I was gone.” Molly cut him off quickly. “That’s all.”

His eyes narrowed. “And she just happened to be here, now?”

“I called in a favour.” Molly held Caleb’s intense gaze. “We don’t have time for this right now, Caleb. We’ve got to go. We have to find the others and regroup and figure this out. They’re looking for us, and we can’t stay here long, or they won’t have to look anymore, if you get my drift.”

Caleb’s stern look didn’t go away, but he pursed his lips tight and took a deep, even breath, still clutching his side. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Together, Yasha and Molly hauled Caleb to his feet.

“I will check the road. You two, stay behind.” Yasha pointed a finger between them before turning her back. Molly watched her, distracted, so he nearly jumped when Caleb grabbed his cloak arm and tugged down, so that Molly tripped backwards. Caleb’s breath heated the curves and points of his ear.

“I know you are lying.” The words felt like a dagger in the back. Molly stilled, gave over his weight to the hand Caleb was using to hold him in place. “I know you have your memories,” he continued. “It is as plain as day that you are different. And now this, this unknown woman. I do not know why you kept it from me, but I will find out, do you hear?”

“I didn’t betray you, Caleb.” But Molly’s voice betrayed himself, his words unsteady and shaking, his tone pitched breathy and weak.

“But you lied. You had a chance to tell the truth. I asked you, and you lied. You know everything there is to know about me, Mollymauk, but I know almost nothing of you.”

“That’s not true, Caleb.” Molly felt his heart breaking.  _ You should have told him _ . _ You never should have lied. _ “You know me. I know you do. You know me in everything I have ever done. I am who I am, memories or no. I chose to be this. Just as you choose to be who you are. I haven’t changed myself. I’m still the same person you saved from the elements. I’m still the same person who has helped you and supported you, regardless of how you treated me. I’m still the person who forgave you,” he entreated.

“Yes,” said Caleb. ‘But now you could die fighting my fight, and I will not know who you are.”

Molly turned, finding himself face to face with Caleb. “You didn’t hear me, Caleb. You know exactly who I am. And if I die today, or tomorrow, or any other day, and I die in your name, it’ll be worth it. That’s who I am. That’s who I am.”

Cool blue eyes darted back and forth across his face in vain attempt to read him, but Molly only stared Caleb down, bound and determined.

“Coast’s clear!” Yasha’s soft voice was enough to shatter the stand-off and both of them turned to face her. Molly made to move, but Caleb grabbed his arm and gave him a pointed look.  _ Later _ , it seemed to say.

Molly didn’t respond. He still wasn’t entirely sure, he thought as he broke from Caleb’s hold to follow Yasha, that there would be a later at all.

* * *

It took a long time to make it to the meeting point safely, darting through the shadows, waiting for guards to pass. Their presence had multiplied almost exponentially in the half an hour since Eodwulf…

The memory of his former friend standing over him with the gleaming dagger (the same one, Caleb recognized instinctively, from his memory of the night of the fire) took over. Wulf had looked at him without even the trace of a wry smile and increased the pressure of his heel on Caleb’s sternum. He wouldn’t have had to; Caleb had already been out of breath, sluggishly bleeding from his side from the wound he’d sustained at the beginning.

And then there had been Molly. Molly’s scimitars jutting out from Eowdulf’s gut as they tore through his abdomen, down through his back. The blood ran off of their tips, dripping onto his forehead and cheek. Blood bubbled at Eodwulf’s lips grotesquely. Eodwulf would have killed him, Caleb knew, but in that moment, all he’d wanted to do was cry.

Another life ruined by Ikithon. A good person turned dark, uncaring, without empathy. A man he’d once loved, a man who once loved him (once, once, long ago) ready to kill him without hesitation.

Caleb shook himself from the recollection.

He was sandwiched between Molly at his back and Yasha to the front when they made it to the alley way where Beauregard had first met them. They’d gone through one of the back gates, which lengthened the walk, but lessened the danger, as Caleb struck the door open with his magic. The only indication that they weren’t alone was the slow blink of Nott’s eyes in the dark. They were only visible for a moment before she launched herself out of the shadows and into his arms, practically climbing him so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and pet at his hair as she whispered soothing things meant for a child.

In some ways, he didn’t mind that he was that child to her.

Only when Nott was satisfied with Caleb’s well being did she turn in his arms to face Yasha, looking up at her skeptically. The mysterious woman’s impressive height did enough to intimidate Caleb, much less a small, albeit very brave goblin woman.

“You’re very tall. Are you going to kill me?”

“Uh, no. Why…why would I do that? I do not understand…”

“This is Yasha, Nott. Nott, Yasha. Yasha saved Caleb and she’d helped us get here.” Molly intervened.

“You saved my boy?” She asked, voice low, considering, and serious.

“I- yes. I did.”

“Alright. Come this way. Jester and Fjord and Beauregard are waiting in the old butchers – it’s been abandoned recently, and it’s boarded up. We’ll be safe there for a time. Follow me.”

The mention of Beauregard stuck Caleb more than anything else. He was glad that Jester and Fjord had gotten away untouched, but it was Beau he was interested in. Nott gave a series of rapid knocks, the door opened, and they were all ushered inside without a moment’s hesitation.

The darkness consumed Caleb. Not a single spot of light was visible at all until a spark shot up from a match and a lantern was lit. The glow it gave off illuminated the whole of the group. Jester, Fjord and Beau on one side, Caleb, Nott, Molly and Yasha on the other.

“Oh Cay-leb-“ Jester started to say, but he cut her off.

“You!” He rounded on Beau. “Where were you? We needed you!”

“I looked for you!” Beau shot back. “You were already gone. I was in the Tower and I heard something about Meier being back in town, and I had to check it out to be sure myself, by the time I got back, you were gone already and I couldn’t get there in time to warn you, Caleb! You shouldn’t have gone without me. I thought we agreed-“

“Edowulf is dead,” Caleb said bluntly. “Mollymauk killed him. He will not be a problem anymore. But we have a bigger problem now. Ikithon knows that it is me and he knows that I am still out here. We don’t have time to waste. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that they will find us and kill us. I stand out. This is my last chance. We strike now or we strike never.”

Beau nodded. “Agreed. I’ll get you to the tower.”

Fjord coughed. “I can do that, actually. A contact of mine was at the Erdeloch this week, fishing, and I’m contracted to bring a portion of that load over to the Tower’s kitchens. Jessie can ride up top with me, and Nott can crouch below. Caleb, you and Molly can ride under the cart, and slip out as we pass this backdoor that Beau was telling us about, the one from your plan B? We drop off the fish, drive back around, no big deal and we sneak in to meet you. Your large friend there, is an unknown,” Fjord gestured to Yasha. “If she’s sticking around she can move about freely. As can Beau - she’ll meet us on the inside, make sure the coast is clear. What do you think?”

Caleb faltered. “I-nein. I cannot ask you all to risk your lives for me.”

“You’re not asking, Caleb! We are telling.” Jester’s expression was set, but she reached out and took his hands in her own, drawing him near. “Fjord and I talked. And this is what we want. I promise, Caleb, and you know that when I make a promise, I mean it.”

“She’s tellin’ the truth. Hells, I’ve been stuck here for a while, and Jester’s been my only good thing. If people aren’t being shit to me for being a half-orc, then it’s cause of my bum arm. This is the guy that makes life hard for all of us, and we know that he’s never been friend to you either. We’re doing this for you, but we’re also doing this because it’s what’s right. It’s our choice, and we’ve already made it.” Fjord concluded, firmly resting a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “You’re our friend. We may not all know each other that well – hell, I don’t even know that one’s name, but we have a common goal, and if we work together, I think we can really do it. I think we can make this happen.”

“Alright, alright, enough with the pep talks.” Beau shouldered in. “We have a rough plan, but there’s still information that you didn’t let me get out. Meier was alone today, and yeah, now he’s dead, but there’s a bigger problem. The partner, Vogel, the crazy one. She’s back. I’m pretty certain they recalled her the minute you showed your face. And she’s not going to be easy to get past. I think you know that. Not even with, uh…” Beau looked Yasha up and down appreciatively. “Not even with Tall Muscular here. Hi. Uh…M’ Beau. Yeah.”

In the dark, it was hard to tell, but Caleb was certain both were blushing. But Beau cleared her throat and continued.

“Are all of us capable of fighting in some way?” She turned to Fjord and Jester. “I don’t know you guys from anyone else on the street. Are you capable? Can you handle it?”

Jester narrowed her eyes. “We’re both capable.”

“This arm might not do much anymore, but I don’t need it to hold my sword and cut a bitch, if you know what I mean.” Fjord grimaced. “And there’s more where that comes from besides. We’re all capable. Tall Muscular’s the only one I don’t know about, uh…not saying that I doubt you or anything.”

“Yasha. I am Yasha. I am Molly’s friend. Molly asked me to be here, so I will do what I am able.”

“Well, what can you do?” Jester asked, smiling friendly-like.

“I have this big sword.” Yasha pulled her greatsword from its sheath. “And I can call lightning and thunder. And I get really, really angry sometimes and that makes it easier to you know…fight. And stuff. Is that good?”

Everyone was quiet. Molly chuckled. “That’s excellent darling.”

“I feel vindicated. I’m glad I asked if you were going to kill me because, obviously,” Nott said, “you can. So! We’ve all got something we can do. How are we going to do it?”

Beau cracked her knuckles. “Caleb, you’re going to handle Ikithon, right? You know him best, you can get underst his skin, but you can’t go in alone. You’ll need someone else.”

He nodded. “Nott. I will take Nott, if, that is,” he looked to her. “You will come with me?”

Solemnly, she nodded. “I will Caleb. I have been with you for a long time now, and I’m going to support you until the end. You’re my boy, and I love you and I’m going to take care of you.”

“Thank you, Schatz. I would not be here without you.”

“Nor I, you, Caleb.” She smiled, toothily, each fang gleaming. “Let’s go kill some shit.”

Caleb couldn’t help but smile too.

“I’ll go.” The voice from behind surprised him, almost. Caleb turned to see Molly, standing behind him. “I’m flashy and distracting, and I can handle myself. I’ve come this far by your side, I’ll go with you to the end.”

“No,” Jester said, locking arms with Fjord. “Not the end. This is going to be a beginning! For all of us.”

Though her words carried earnestness, Caleb couldn’t find it in himself to agree. Something felt final about what they were doing.

“Till the end,” he repeated. “Molly and Nott and I will go to meet Ikithon. He will stay in the top of the tower, where he always is. Safe, he thinks, and sequestered.

“Fjord and I!” Jester reiterated, as if there was any question of it.

“I guess that leaves us, Tall Muscular,” Beau pointed out.

“Oh, um, yes. You are strong too.”

“On the morning then,” Caleb said, breaking through the moment. “We should set up watches, all get a good, secure night’s rest, so that we are prepared for tomorrow.” He turned to Jester. “Do you have enough in you to finish healing me? Yasha did some, but-“

“Oh, Caleb! Of course!” The minute he spoke, Jester was on him, a prayer on her lips. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked as the magic took root.

“Ah, other things seemed more important, I guess.”

His heart was pounding. He could taste it, how close he was. He could almost touch it.

The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

They set watches, Molly volunteering immediately after Caleb insisted on taking one. He felt red eyes on his back as he set the alarm thread around the room. Already, Beau and Fjord were snoring. Jester tossed and turned a bit, but gradually settled in. Yasha sat up against a wall, alone, but Caleb watched as Nott snuck over, holding out Frumpkin to her and the three curled up together. Eventually, the only sound was light breathing and the occasional snore.

The whole time, Molly watched him.

“Is there something you need, Mister Mollymauk?” Caleb asked quietly.

At first, it seemed as though Molly wouldn’t speak, but then he patted the ground next to him, and Caleb, feeling indulgent, sat.

“The world is a colder place than I thought,” he started, and Caleb could only stare at him, confused. The look Molly wore was almost pained. “The air is cold, the wind is cold, the light is cold, the cities and landscapes…even the people. Everything here is cold. But you don’t have to be, Caleb. Don’t let the world make you cold inside. No matter what. Promise me, after this, you’ll thaw.”

“That is an extreme metaphor, Molly.” Seeing the distress in Molly’s expression, Caleb sighed. “But I will…try to do as you ask. I will. And that I can promise.”

Molly eyes softened, or rather, the lines around them did. “Alright.”

 

A space settled between them and it seemed as though Molly was going to speak again, but he never did. Caleb didn’t comment on it. The night wore on, the watch changed, and Caleb lay awake wondering what it was that Molly hadn’t said, and, come the morrow, might never say at all.

No one spoke much the next morning, not even Jester, who only blessed them all before they set about the day. Quickly and quietly they readied themselves. Fjord ducked out before the rest to get the cart, and Yasha and Molly spent a while whispering together in a corner. Around the rickety old table, Jester sat with her sketchbook, while Beau rewrapped her arms.

Caleb was lost in his thoughts when Nott tugged on the sleeve of his shirt.

“What is it, Schatz?”

Shiftily, her eyes darted about, unwilling looking him in the face. “I have a thing…a thing to tell you, is all. And I’m nervous. About today. So, I’m going to tell you now.”

Caleb sucked in a harsh breath. “Go on.”

“I’m not…Nott,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not even a goblin. Well, I am now. But I wasn’t always. I’m-I was a halfling. Named Veth. Veth Brenatto. I was a wife. And a mother. And I just needed someone to know. Just in case.”

Closing his eyes, Caleb bit his lip hard.

“You’re my family too, Caleb. You’re the only true family this body has ever known. This body never held hands with my husband. This body never bore my child. But I have sewed your wounds, and comforted you, and made meals with you, and defended you. And now, I’ll fight beside you, because that’s what family does. They protect one another, Caleb. So, yeah. That’s, um… that’s it.”

Caleb knelt, looked her in the eyes and drew her into a hug. “You are my family, also, Nottchen. And if…if this all goes well today, I will see to it that someday, you are reunited with those you are undoubtedly missing.”

“And maybe made a halfling again?” She sniffed wetly into his shoulder.

“Ja. Of course, Schätzchen. Of course.”

They stayed like that for a long while, until Beau cleared her throat. Caleb smiled sadly as Nott pulled away, brushing the tears from her face as she did.

“It’s time to go.”

Caleb nodded at Beau and stood. “Ja. It is time.”

The ride was hellish. With Molly clinging beside him, Caleb held to the underside of the cart, watching as legs passed by, hearing heavy footfalls he couldn’t see. Twice they were stopped and Fjord’s cargo was checked, and twice they were not found. Each time, he grew more nervous. He’d waited so many,  _ many _ years for this. Years of planning, of dreaming, of thinking about how he would do it, and what he would say, if anything. Years of training himself on how best to use Ikithon’s advice against him, how to sink the final wound, so that, when it hit it’s mark, Ikithon would spend his last moments in horrific wonderment that the boy he so artfully molded into a killer had finally risen up against him and come out on top.

So much time, devoted to hatred and loathing and anger that it blotted out all else imaginable. Caleb’s teeth ground together in quite, cold-burning fury.

The day was come. His vengeance was nearly in hand.

And Ikithon would die cursing the day he ever came to the little hamlet of Blumenthaal.

The cart came to a rolling stop and a sharp rap against the wood of the floorboards had Molly and Caleb both releasing their grips, dropping to the ground. The snow wasn’t sticking to the flagged stone, and the damp was inconsequential at best. From his vantage point, Caleb could see Fjord’s study sea-boots walking about, presumably messing with the horse’s tack as a rouse. Just as he stepped back up into the cart, before it had a chance to roll away, they crept out from beneath it, using it’s cover to run for the hidden entryway where, with any luck, Beau and Yasha would be waiting for them. Nott was already present in the shadows.

“Let’s go.”

The door was well hidden indeed, but so were they. In the crevasse between an older portion of the palace and the place where the tower was built up beside it, they slipped in, one by one, until the jagged stone outline Beau described, was visible. They waited, anxious, as Caleb cast his spell, but he shook his head when no arcane defenses were revealed. Beau had told the truth.

Carefully, Nott looked it over, her keen eyes slipping over the uneven surface for the disguised keyhole.

“There!” She hissed, pointing. Nott slapped a leather bound sleeve into Molly’s hand. “Hold this.”

Pulling a few tools from within, she set about the lock, twisting at it, her tongue just stuck out from between two large, sharp teeth. Caleb tried to imagine her a halfling, a mother and wife, living somewhere in the empire, presumably, happy, hale, whole. Contented.

Never picking locks to mage towers that housed only the people who managed to control the entire nation with their words, despite the immense magical power they wielded.

All of a sudden, his mouth was dry; though his hands felt like they were shaking, when he looked down, all he could see was that he was perfectly still, the skin over the tops of his knuckled thing and white with strain.

Molly held the kit faithfully, but he watched Caleb with a level of concern that Caleb wasn’t comfortable yet acknowledging.

“Ah! Got it!” Nott exclaimed and with a heaving grunt, the door set back into the cavity behind it, giving off a puff of dust and receded into the right hand side of the wall, leaving a gap just large enough for the three of them to squeeze through. The inside of the passage was dark and dank and chilly. Thin rays of light were all that shone through, though they only extended a few feet before the hall went completely dark.

“Alright,” Caleb said. “We go forward until we come to the passage on the left. That should be the spiral stair. Molly, Nott, you will need to lead me. I am blind in here, and I dare not use any magic until we are discovered. This place has wards, ancient beyond belief, and I do not wish to trip them.”

“I’ll check for traps. Molly, watch your tail, dear. Just in case.”

Together, they walked through the ever darkening tunnel until Caleb was moving along mostly by feel, with only Molly’s hand on his arm to guide him. Eventually, Molly stopped him, and he waited, trustingly, for someone to say or do something. Molly’s hand never left him, however.

“It’s here,” Nott whispered, and Molly moved ahead, pulling Caleb with him.

The first steps were tricky, but Caleb eventually memorized the height of the stair, which were not entirely uniform, but close enough that he didn’t have to worry about tripping. He closed his eyes, vision useless anyways, and envisioned his surroundings, cast over in a dim light, and Molly’s lilac hand on his arm, pulling him along behind Nott, who carefully surveyed each stair and every turn.

They stopped again, Molly’s arm going out to steady him, and Caleb waited, his heart pounding furiously.

He felt a tap against his wrist and opened his eye reflexively. In the distance, he could see the faintly lit outline of another door. Molly leaned in close.

“Is that it?” he whispered.

_ Seventy-five steps _ , Caleb’s mind supplied. “Ja.”

They started for the door. The minutes ticked off in Caleb’s head, almost half an hour since they’d been dropped off. Just enough time. He nodded in what he figured was Nott’s general direction and then heard three soft raps against the ancient stonework.

They were just as softly returned, and promptly too. They all took a step back and the door slid open, reveling Yasha and a wryly grinning Beau.

“Come on, come on. We’re running out of time,” the monk hissed, holding out a dagger

“We are already out of time,” Caleb hissed under his breath, but he snatched the dagger from her palm anyways. “Let’s go.”

They wrapped around behind decorative pillars and made for the servant’s landing where, with any luck, they would find Fjord and Jester.

“But where is Yasha?” Molly asked, and then stopped, silent. “We’re going to need her.”

Beau waved him off. “Don’t worry about your friend. She’ll be fine. She’s standing watch.” They came to the end of the corridor. “Stay here, I’ll go get Jester and Fjord.”

They didn’t have to wait long. The couple ran up behind Beau as she returned, but Yasha was still nowhere to be found. Molly made a distressed noise when she said it, but the rest of them all voted to go after Caleb. Yasha would have to catch up to keep up, or risk falling behind.

They weren’t long on the back steps before Yasha’s heavy foot falls found them. She only nodded stoically and they pushed onwards, up the stair and through a dusty, winding corridor. It was one that Caleb had taken before, knew by heart. Ghosts passed him on the stair, the trailing shades of Astrid and Eodwulf, youthful yet lifeless, and a hundred others, students who tread those same steps through the years. And then, finally, he saw his own face among that ghostly number, young and hard, but yet innocent in a way, despite the blood on his hands. And, oh, but was there blood! It dripped along the floor, pooling so still and glossy that it looked like a red mirror on the floor of the hall. Caleb turned as he passed the ghost of his youth, and watched it leave a trail into the mist of his memories, until it was too far gone to see, and there were no footfalls to disturb the settled dust and ravages of time.

Taking a deep breath, Caleb looked away from the past, and continued to walk, towards the next stair. Up and up and up until the Tower met the sky and Ikithon would look him in the face.

And then, together, they would burn.

Lost in his thoughts, Caleb almost missed it when Beau held up a hand to pause them, a door opening across the hallway. Jester’s hand on his collar yanked him back, but she wasn’t fast enough

There, exiting out of the opposite room, was Astrid.

He felt his blood run cold, as though it was frozen in place, never to thud sluggishly through his veins again.

Though he’d seen her that day in the temple, he hadn’t really  _ looked _ . She was older, to be certain, but had that same, hard quality to her mouth as always, and the feverish light of zealotry in her eyes, but she held herself like a pillar, like stone, and her eyes were on his, staring at him with poison in her veins. The ghosts of the past rose again from the dust under the command of her presence and Caleb was thrown, stilling himself blatantly in the corridor.

By some miracle, she said nothing, lip curling into a sneer as she started forward, her hand coming up in a clawed movement. She had always treated magic like it was a tool for her to wield, a weapon and not a gift. Caleb was sure that he would see her fingers spilling arcane energy like a waterfall, but Beau flashed by in a whirl of blue, her fist striking out; Astrid side stepped. It wasn’t enough, however, to miss the second oncoming fist which caught her hard in the shoulder, knocking her back and throwing her off her balance, the spell fading from her hands. With her free hand, Beau whirled the staff from where it was situated on her back, cracking it into Astrid’s side. As she pulled back, Astrid regained her footing, back straightening like steel, undaunted.

Not far behind was Jester, who stepped into the hall a good distance away. She lashed out with her hand, crackling black energy flowing from her fingertips, catching the Mage square in the chest just as Fjord moved up and around the corridor nearer Astrid, summoning a blade to his hands from nowhere, slicing out at her with a thundering boom of magic. It caught her across the back and she shrieked and whirled towards him.

Caleb knew that he had to do something. He barely saw Beau’s hits, Jester’s magic, Fjord’s sweeping sword. In their place, her seldom seen smile, her laugh, however bitter, how she’d felt in his arms, the hard manner of what he’d once claimed their love… But her cry cut him to the quick and he came out of it to see her eyes flashing bright and dangerous. Shakily, he raised his arm, holding the charred twig in his hand and whispering as he moved it through the air. Lightning materialized, struck her, crackling across her body, just in time for Fjord’s blade to whisk away, saving his friend from accidental electrocution.

Bleeding, smoking and pale, Astrid’s eyes found Caleb, hard and cold and dead. She roared at him, thrusting both hands outwards. Sickly green jets of lights sped forward. Beau took the hit, rattled but standing, and the second one caught him across the cheek.

It  _ burned _ . It burned worse than fire, like a corrosive itch that wouldn’t go away and he staggered, eyes darting out and around for any means of escape or cover. A  _ fwoosh _ sounded through the air next to him, followed by a second and he saw two bolts fly past, one clattering into the wall behind Astrid; the second one, however, hit its mark, in the same place Beau’s fist had caught her, but Nott, her crossbow held aloft, had been spotted. With a rapid smack, Astrid broke off the end of the bolt from where it stuck in her shoulder. But she didn’t have time to react. Everything was moving so fast that Caleb almost missed it, Molly with his blades out, blood trickling down his neck, flying towards her on nimble feet. Just as he slashed out, Caleb felt large, thick hands wrap around his arms, dragging him backwards, and though he craned his neck to see, Yasha stepped into the way and he missed what happened entirely.

When the large woman started towards the fight, in reaction, it seemed to Molly’s attack, he could see blood on Molly’s shining blades, but it was too difficult to tell anything else, because Yasha was running headlong at the frenzied mage, pushing Molly out of the way as she went, roaring and brandishing her own blade. Astrid ducked out of the way, and Beau had to dive to keep from being bowled over, but Yasha struck true.

As Beau rolled, making ready to attack again, Jester grabbed Caleb and pulled him back around into the corridor. “You have to go! You have to go when you get the chance. Take some people with you, but we can handle her. You need to get to Ikithon. Go!”

Caleb turned.

Fjord was lunging, just in time for Astrid to dodge out of the way, her hands already preparing a spell.

“Go, Caleb!” Jester called.

He ran.

He ran until each kiss turned to each cold word, each smile to the bitter glare of hatred that came when he succeeded where she did not, each hug to the times she had ratted him out to Ikithon for some failing or another. But none of it was anything by comparison to what that man himself had done. He wasn’t there for Astrid. He was there for Ikithon and Ikithon alone.

Caleb ran.

Astrid’s spell hit. He felt the wave of magic just stop short of his ankle, turned, breathing heavily, to see Nott, Jester, and Molly clutching their heads. The rest were backing away from Astrid as she smiled, wickedly pleased. Yasha was reduced to tears, sobbing, while Fjord paled, slashing at nothing next to a trembling Beauregard. Caleb turned the corner, pressing his back up against the wall, waiting for her to realize that he was gone, hoping and praying that someone else would get away, that someone would break free.

She screamed again in frustration as Nott rounded the corner, screeching to a halt, followed by Molly, who had one arm tucked close to his side, though both swords were still held aloft. He didn’t dare turn to see what else was happening, if they were dead, if they were fighting against her…

“Go,” Molly panted. “Jester’s staying behind. They’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. We have to go,  _ now _ .”

“You’re hurt,” Caleb said, dumbly, unable to move his feet.

“So are you.” Molly retorted.

Caleb wavered. It wasn’t the wound, but something else that left him feeling vaguely ill, as though wax had settled in his stomach like Bleigießen on New Dawn, when they used to sit all together on Wulf’s bed, the warm bowl of water balance precariously on the mattress as they tipped the candle over it to read one another’s fortunes in the shapes that coalesced.

Astrid’s was the eagle, for ambition, Wulf the anchor, for stolidity. And Caleb, the lantern, for enlightenment.

They’d argued the whole year over what they meant.

Only by graduation did Caleb come to understand.

Astrid was ruled by her ambitions, and Wulf set out to do whatever it was he was told. And Caleb…Calb found the knowledge and wisdom he’d sought, and for his trouble, everything burned.

Enlightened indeed.

“Caleb, come  _ on! _ ” Nott grabbed his hand and tugged, pulling him out of the memory in the process, and they sprinted off after Molly, who was already pulling ahead. Caleb stumbled along behind Nott, his foot slipping in the trail of blood that Molly was leaking from his side.

Up the stairs.

Up and up and up.

Up to Ikithon.

Up to their dea-

Abruptly, Molly stopped and Caleb crashed into Molly’s back, putting out a hand just in time to keep himself from tumbling down the stair.

Something was lurking on the landing.

And it had seen them.

Someone.

Someone familiar.

Caleb blanched, his stomach roiling. The stench of death and putridity wafted off of the thing in waves, and its breathing – or at least, the simulacrum of such an act – rattled through its punctured lungs. Twin gashes were torn through the flesh and bloodied cream robes of what had once been Eodwulf.

Tiny hands pushed at his legs, and Caleb stepped up and to the side of Molly, whose breathing grew measured and even as he gripped his swords more tightly. “Nott, take Caleb. I killed this one yesterday. I can kill him again today.”

“But-“ Caleb tried to object, but Nott tugged him by the hand and he could only throw a frantic glance over his shoulder as Molly and the ghoul rushed one another head on, while he and Nott started up the next set of stairs, leaving behind all the rest.

It had begun with the two of them, and now, it appeared, that was also how it would end.

The moment they stepped out into the final corridor, Caleb felt the haze of memory pass over him again, like a cloud. He remembered the first time he entered Ikithon’s private sanctum as a boy, the first time he heard words of pride, of anger, turned in his direction. The first time he felt the searing pain as Ikithon placed gems in his arms, the placating words as smooth as silk, insisting that this was right, that he was doing well, that he was growing powerful. That he would someday lead the nation. And that last time, when he started for the office, when he heard the words that had damned him, when treason slipped between the lips of his Master.

Too far gone in his reminiscing, Caleb noticed too late as Nott tripped the alarm thread in her rush for the door. The moment she was through the threshold, Caleb knew he was on his own.

First, the spell hit. Nott went flying into the far wall of the room and lay still. The breath punched out from Caleb instantly at the sight, wracking him with fear.  _ Dead. She could be dead. _ It didn’t matter. If she was dead, then he had but one more reason to remove Ikithon from the board. Caleb steeled himself, but it made little difference. Weakly, he stepped forward, turned to look for the source of the spell. At first there was nothing. Nothing but the wide windows, and the white of snow behind them.

And then, Caleb saw him.

Ikithon.

He stood impossibly straight, his back to Caleb, as he gazed out of the great tower windows behind his desk, hands held clasped loosely behind his back, long, dark robes against the bright muted white of the natural light framing his tall, thin silhouette. It was as if no time had passed at all. Inside, Caleb felt small and useless.

“Herein, mein junge. Come in, my boy.” Ikithon didn’t turn to acknowledge him, but there was a slight shift of his posture as Caleb took the first slow, angry steps forward. “No greeting for your teacher? No ‘Guten Abend, Herr Ikithon?’” The Archmage shook his head back and forth, three times, sharply changing direction as he punctuated each movement with a harsh  _ tisk.  _ “And here I thought you had better manners.”

“Ich hasse dich.”

Caleb didn’t recognize his own voice. It was low and even and, though he’d just proclaimed one of the strongest emotions known to mankind, he’d said it with the same cold, rote chilliness of the very man before him.

“Rude. Such elementary tactics. Do you, junge? Do hate me? Not but a day ago you tried and failed to kill me. Whatever for, I wonder? Did I not do as you asked? Did I not teach you how to use your gift? Did I not help you on your path to reach your fullest potential?”

The fury boiling within Caleb was as cold as the bitter waters of the river he’d crossed that late fall. His veins were shot through with the quicksilver feeling of it, molten and freezing all at once.

Ikithon still did not turn to him.

_ “Beanwortet die Frage!” _

The harsh shout rang in the interior, echoing. Caleb shuddered instinctually. Inadvertently, the reaction trained into him, he had to catch himself from taking two steps back, from sinking to his knees, from begging for retribution for his ill judgement and rude nature. Disgust filled his mouth like bile. Nothing was different. He wasn’t stronger, he wasn’t powerful, he couldn’t do this.

“Answer. My. Question. Young. Man.” Ikithon repeated himself, a careful, purposefully punctuated slowness to his words.

Instantly, it transported Caleb back, back to those days long ago. Body shaking with pent up rage, Caleb’s jaw clenched so tightly that he thought he might shatter a tooth. He coiled his hands into fists and then flexed his fingers, feeling the will of his magic scurrying down his arm, ready for him to call it into being.

“Ja. Du hast dass gemacht. But you also used me, and the others. We were  _ children _ and you manipulated us. You killed our innocence. You killed my family, and for that, you will die.”

“Is that so?” The superciliousness in Ikithon’s tone annoyed Caleb to no end, though he had expected it. It was impossible to forget, after so many, many years. “I don’t recall it being  _ my _ magic that set fire to your house while your parents were trapped within.”

“Do not condescend to me,” Caleb began, fighting to keep his emotions from breaking the fragile surface of his control. “You are responsible. You did this.  _ You _ .”

“Bren, Bren, Bren, my dear boy. Don’t you remember?”

Taking a shaky breath at the sound of his birth name, Caleb exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut. The dreams, the flashes…everything…

_ The smoke was billowing from the house like the darkest cloud in a storm. There was a hand on his shoulder, the gripping claws of fate digging into the flesh, pinning him, marking him, claiming him- _

Caleb shook himself out of the memory and focused harder on Ikithon. “I know what happened. You killed my parents because I would not! Don’t twist this! Don’t  _ lie!” _ He snarled, fearful, feral, and hurled the first spell at Ikithon, who ducked out of the way easily.

“Insolent, impertinent, _pathetic_ _waste!_ ” Ikithon struck back at Caleb, his words liken to a slap.  “Good years spent molding you into something _powerful_ and you threw it all away over your wretched, destitute parents _after they were already dead!_ You disappointed me then, boy.” His voice dripped with disdain. “And you disappoint me now.”

A spell struck just to the left of Caleb, catching him in its energy halo. The bite of it stung his skin and he winced but flung another back at the man who had once been his greatest confidant. Who had been his idol, his moral and ethical ideal.

Who had been his  _ god. _

Face contorting in a rage, Caleb blasted back, his spell only missing Ikithon by a hairsbreadth. “You  _ destroyed me!  _ You took children like me and you ripped us open and you took everything inside and you tore it out! You made me,  _ Trent _ , and now, I will unmake you.”

“Come, Bren, you think you can kill me?” The spell he flung towards Caleb was paltry, but each gleaming missile of arcane energy caught him in succession, and he felt a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “You are weak. You are out of practice. And you’ve forgotten your training.”

Through the pain, Caleb smiled. “No. No, never that. Never that.” He lifted both hands, the muscle in his arms trembling with fury as he hands lit up with a dark, consuming anti-light. In the gleam of the spell, he thought he saw Ikithon’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly before the sickening energy hit his old teacher, goring him over with lacerations.

Ikithon staggered under the onslaught, gnashing his teeth and for the first time, Caleb noticed that the Archmage looked ill. His skin was yellowed, and bore dark spots indicative of his age. Even his beard, once snow white by comparison to his greyish hair, had turned and off white.

Caleb’s smile grew wider, though he was breathing hard for the loss of blood. “I am more than you think. Once, you would not have underestimated me. But you do so now.”

Magic whirled on their finger-tips, back and forth, the room glowing as spells flashed and concussed, whirled and warped. More than one hit their marks on both sides, but Caleb ducked and dodge more quickly than Ikithon, dropping to roll more than once as a chair behind him disintegrated into ash. He was breathing hard, ribs bruised, muscles quaking, blood oozing from cuts and gashes. A vase exploded near his head, sending out shards of porcelain and he hid his face as they flew towards him, embedding themselves in his arm, grazing him across the forehead. Wincing in pain, he gritted his teeth and twisted together another spell, the beginnings of flames sparking at his fingertips. 

With a wave of his hand, Ikithon’s counterspell subsumed it and it dissipated, leaving Caleb to sink, near exhausted, to his knees. Weakly, trembling, he hoisted himself on the end table.

Ikithon sneered at him as he descended the stairs from his desk, haughtily.

“It was  _ you _ , Bren!” he bellowed as he grasped at air in mystic arcane motions, slow and purposeful. “You, who set the fire, not I! You who burned your parents to death, trapped inside your childhood home, screaming for you to save them, screaming for their beloved son, who  _ murdered them without a thought-“ _

Caleb stumbled back as the full force of the memory hit him.

_ The smoke billows from the house like the darkest cloud in a storm. The hands on his shoulders, the gripping claws of fate digging into the flesh, pinning him, marking him, claiming him, separating him forever from the tragedy before him. He longs to run to its embrace and find himself little more than a wisp of ash lost to the sky and the stars, blocked out by the growing blanket of smoke. In the muted air, the spice of fire and burning wood sear his tongue and dam his ears and flood his eyes until they are red and scratchy from more than just his tears. The ash burns its way down his throat and coated his flaming hair in soft white brilliance. _

_ Against the caliginous colour of the sky, the fire leaps and grows and glows, devouring and devouring the dark into its unforgiving maw, but leaving him untouched, mustering its fever pitch as it transforms into the piercing howl that is pulled ragged from within his chest, leaving his throat raw and his lungs bleeding as the timbers of the house blackened and crumbled into char and cinder, sparking and crackling and howling right along with him. His voice is hoarse for screaming, but even though there is no sound left, he doesn’t stop. Within the skeleton structure, his soul screams too, and weeps as the future emblazons itself on his heart in the form of the past there and then. _

_ The whistling screams are lost to the soft, scintillating whisper that chills his spine and freezes his heart, the hot breath cooling against his neck as the darkness leans down next to him and drips poison into his ear. The biting grip holds him by the back of the neck, but he has only eyes for the melting memories and scorched bones that lay in embers at his feet. _

_ “You did it, Bren. That’s a good boy. Just the way it was meant to be. Can’t you see that? They were traitors, Bren. You did the right thing. Now, come with me.” _

_ But Bren does not come. Bren does not hear a word. Bren is gone. He stands there for hours (not hours. Seconds, maybe minute), pinned like a butterfly by the guilt blossoming in his chest, the agony, pure and white hot as the flame. The smoldering remnants of the world, his whole life, everything he was, lay like ash on the ground. The grip releases. Ikithon stands aside. _

_ The horror of it all drives him to his knees, a mock tribute to the desecration of his sacred childhood and he finds that the tears are burned from his eyes and he can no longer even weep for all that is lost. Nothing is spared. _

_ Then, Ikithon left him, only the sentinels of his ruin remaining beside him as he watches on. In his breast, his heart withers and dies, so it does not make a difference when he stands, shaky on his feet, taking a lurching step before hands are on him again. Gleaming is the blade that belongs to Death; he slips the weapon from the Eodwulf’s sheath; his own hand is Death’s as he takes it, grips it, stabs that dagger of bright, cold steel into his own chest before Wulf and Astrid can wrest it from him; they cannot hold him in place. He does not feel it when he meets the ground, pillowed by ash and bathed in blood, for he is already dead. _

_ Astrid and Eodwulf look down on him from above, dark, skeleton angels, faces flickering gaunt in by the light of the flame. They do not wait for Death to claim him, turning and walking away, silent in the first vestiges of dawn as the dirt soaks in his life to feed the ravaged ground anew, a stain of red against the ashy-white air, thick with the night’s last recollections as the fire burns away into nothing, leaving behind only the despoiled victims of its ravenous hunger. _

_ And when the snow begins to fall, cloaking the scene in the purity of the sacrifice made there that day, he is reborn in the ice and the cold, while hatred burns in the hollow chasm of his chest. They leave him, but he lives on.  He staggers to his feet and, mindless, drifts on the wind into the endless expanse of pale, grey sky over the pristine white cover of earth, leaving behind only physically the ugly scar on land, though not the one on his soul. _

“So, you  _ do _ remember,” Ikithon said, pleased, an unnatural wind buffeting around him protectively, swirling his robed and his long, lank hair. The Archmage looked down on him with a scoff, and Caleb knew that silent tears were streaming down his cheeks, that the fury burning in his eyes dissipated as the truth settled into his bones. He looked into the face of the man who had helped to destroy his life, Ikithon’s hand outstretched, and braced himself, ready and prepared to take the blow, for it all to end, the defeat coursing through him.  What did it matter, then, to murder Ikithon, when it had been his own magic that ended the lives of his parents?

The killing blow Caleb expected never came. In a sudden blur of colour and strange light, Molly flew in front of him, swords out, whirling and lit with blood magic, slicing and cutting at Ikithon, whose attention shifted. The Archmage immediately threw back a spell, a which staggered Molly slightly, but Ikithon hadn’t been prepared for the full on assault. Caleb shook himself out of it; Molly was in the fight now, and at the least, Caleb could serve to protect him, even if all his other friends had perished. His own life was forfeit. Joining the fray once more, he formed a spell, flinging it outward, wary of hitting Molly who was moving with such feral, reckless grace like some manner of artful dancer. Light and cold cut the air, leaving gashes along Ikithon’s arms and back, though the arcane wind prevented their full effect. Like some sort of animal, Molly lunged and dove, weaving in and out, taking spells as frequently as he returned blows. Caleb was hard pressed to send out his own spells; between Molly’s fliting form, his own magic was weakening, and he felt himself waning.

No matter what he did, it seemed that Ikithon was not to be outdone. Sensing he was no longer a real threat, he ignored Caleb completely, no matter the amount of spells that Caleb threw at him, focusing his energy on Molly. That must have been his plan, because he made himself impossible to forget, his swords glinting against the glow of spells as they were slung at him left and right. All the same, he was growing slower, more desperate. A few swings hit their mark, breaking through Ikithon’s arcane wind and mage armor, but it wasn’t enough. One blast hit the ground by his feet, upsetting his balance just enough that he made a desperate lunge and he landed a particularly nasty blow  he turned, he caught a spell to the chest, the force of it pushing him back as he skidded on the flagged stone, bending forward to catch his breath. The half a moment he spent taking a breath was a mistake.

With one vicious whirl, Ikithon’s spell formed and flew out from his fingers, a bolt of flame in the shape of an arrow. It flew true and swift. Caleb’s desperate cry lost on his lips to the terrible ringing pound of his own heart in his ears. The arrow pierced through Molly’s chest, melting through flesh and bone and flying out his back before dissipating into nothingness.

The arrow-like bolt of flame struck Molly through, disintegrating part of his upper chest from the fanning flame as it pierced his bare skin. The pounding in Caleb’s ears was so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else at all, not even his own wrecked voice as he screamed Molly’s name.  For a moment, Molly stood, looking down at the ruin of his own chest, then crumpled gracefully to the ground. His gaze found Caleb one last time before he struck the cold stone floor, unmoving.

Caleb whirled on Trent, mindless in his grief. Trembling, he shot out a hand at Ikithon. A spiral of unrestrained fire streamed forth from his fingertips towards his former master; in those final, endless moments, Caleb’s whole life played out in his mind’s eye, everything that led him to that moment. His parents, smiling, faces obscured by a torrent of his own, all-consuming flame. Then Astrid. Eodwulf. Nott. Jester. Fjord. Even Beau, Yasha….

And Molly. Molly, suspended in his memory’s perfect glass case, smiling softly at him as snow dusted his curling plum hair. Caleb blinked, and it was gone. Time restarted. The fireball hit Trent square in the chest. The smug look wiped entirely from his face, its force pushed him backwards as it continued to hurtle on its path. There was a sharp shatter as Ikithon’s back made contact with the first pane of glass. The suffocating heat force did the rest as the widows were blown out of the tower in glinting crystalline shards, taking Ikithon with it as Caleb’s fire ate him alive the same way it had his parents. His feet moving of their own accord, Caleb found himself standing at the window as he watched the fiery descent. Ikithon almost seemed to flutter in the breeze, drifting down and down, slowly and silently, forever. When the body made impact, there was no sound. The softly buffeting wind carried it away and Caleb watched in silence until the flames had had their fill, satisfying themselves to lick away at what remained until all that was left were bones.

It was over. 

Caleb sagged against the jagged windowpane. The wind tangled lightly at his hair, and, for the first time since that long ago night, he felt truly cold, shivering as he lost himself in the all-encompassing still and silence of the moment.

A wet wheezing cough broke through his musing as sudden reality blossomed into vibrant colour at the terrible, painful reminder of what awaited him.

Caleb turned away from the windows. His body felt heavy, his limbs uncooperative as he crossed the distance between the edge and the place where Molly had fallen. Each step was an hour, each heavy thud of his heart an age, before he finally fell to his knees in shock. Horror pulled on him, weighing him down like he was going to slowly sink into the floor and become one with the stone. An eternal sentinel of senseless tragedy.

With shaking hands and wavering resolve, Caleb timidly caressed Molly’s paling, mauve cheek. Red eyes flickered open, unfocused, before finding him in their sights.

Caleb hitched a sob.

Weakly, Molly reached back to him, and Caleb had to clasp his hand swiftly in midair before it fell.

“C’eb.” Molly moaned, his voice a barely-there whisper. “C’leb….don’ cry, C’leb…”

Caleb ignored the searing tears as they rolled across his cold, alabaster cheeks. He didn’t know where to look; it hurt too much to stare for long at Molly’s beautiful face, his eyes going dull and expressions coloured by pain. But the charred and blackened remains of his burnt out, mangled chest were worse.

And yet, Caleb didn’t close his eyes against the gruesome sight. Each beat of his heart drummed the words, a mantra of shame.

_ Your fault. _

_ Your fault.  _

_ Your fault. _

Unable to look away, Caleb simply stared at Molly’s slender throat, watched the feeble flutter of his thready pulse, and wept.

“Caleb…please…look ’t me…”

Wretchedly, Caleb shook his head in defiance, but looked anyway. Turning his head was liken to turning that of a stone statue’s.

Molly’s expectant stare was strangely calm.

“I need-” Molly cut off, coughing, blood flecking his lips. Helplessly, Caleb dropped Molly’s hand, leaving his own to flutter in useless industry, unable to decide if, despite his extensive injuries, it was worth trying to turn him on his side so he didn’t choke on his own blood.

The coughing subsided. Low and mournful, Molly moaned. Gingerly, Caleb slid to sitting and grasped Molly about the shoulders. Choking back a sob, he settled Molly’s head in his lap, cradling his limp form in his hands. Each gasp of pain that fell from Molly’s lips was like a dagger in Caleb’s heart, twisting and turning, pressing deeper, sharper, harder. He could feel Molly’s warm blood seeping into the fabric of his trousers.

When Molly’s breathing finally eased, Caleb looked down, watched as a single one of his own tears rolled off his cheek and splashed just below Molly’s eye.

“C’leb.” Molly began again. “I need- need to tell…” he struggled, broke for a sharp breath. “…tell you something.”

“Later, ja? You can tell me later, you must save your breath, M-Molly, Molly-m-mauk…”

Voice shaking, Molly shushed him. “N-no, Caleb. N-now. Need to…now…”

Caleb bit his lip hard, but didn’t fight.

“’m going to die, Ca- I’m … going to die…”

“Nein! Nein. Nei-”

“Yes. ‘s too late, Caleb.” Molly spoke over him. “There…are things that-“ His breath caught again, a tremor running through his whole body. “-I need you to know.” His slurred words paused, as if awaiting a response  and Caleb gave a hurried nod. “I’m not…I know who I am. I just- didn’t want to…to tell you that I- I’d rem-me-membered… ‘ didn’ want to…hurt…you.”

Vigorously, Caleb shook his head, making to speak, but Molly shushed him again.

“I’m the Nonagon.”

Blankly, Caleb stared at the revelation, half in disbelief, half still from the ongoing shock.

“…know you don’t believe me. But I am…I s-saw you…saw you make fire…so… _ beautiful _ …wanted-“ A spark of wide-eyed pain shot across his face and Caleb scrambled to ease him, petting futilely at his hair. “Wanted you. Wanted to be m-mortal…for you… Didn’ wan’ you to…to suffer…Caleb, I fell in love with you.”

It was Caleb’s turn to suck in a sharp breath. Molly’s face ached with emotion, the same sort as Caleb had ignored many times before. That he had consistently pretended not to see.

“So my goddesses...The Matron…Moon...weaver... granted me my wish…t-to be mortal, so that I could be w-with you…Caleb…so you c-could fa-ll in…l- _ ah! _ ” He gasped, his breathing ramped up and Caleb bit his lip hard, clutching Molly nearer.

“Molly…”

Whatever it was Molly had to say was too garbled to understand, but his eyes were wide and his face expressive. Quick breaths escaped Molly’s lips, his life force slipping away with each shuddering rise and fall of his chest. The plaintive sounds made Caleb’s gut roil uncomfortably and he reached helpless at his face. “C’leb…lo-“

“Nei-!“

Caleb stopped, his mouth opening soundlessly.

Molly’s breath eased out one last time and he stilled, face lax, head lolling, eyes staring blindly up at him. 

“Nein!  _ Nein! Bitte! _ ” In disbelief, Caleb let out an agonized cry, his head bowing over Molly’s still form, fingers clenching and unclenching tightly as he wept, unrestrained. Instinctively, moved by grief, he clutched Molly’s limp form to his chest, rocking him, fingers tangling in his hair, smoothing down the sides of his face to no avail, sobbing his pleas into the bloodied fabric of Molly’s shirt.

A soft hand fell on his shoulder. “Caleb. Caleb, it is too late. He’s gone. You have to let him go.”

He glance up, just for a moment, and saw them all standing around him, the worse for wear, but alive and breathing. Even Nott was standing shakily beside him. He didn’t know when they’d arrived, how long they’d been watching, what they’d all heard. It didn’t matter. Caleb didn’t care. Because Molly was dead in his arms. “Nein,” he sobbed out the word. “Nein, bitte.  _ Bitte. _ Nein.”

“Caleb, he was growing much too near to what he once was…look, Caleb, you have to look.”

Yasha’s gentle hand guided him to sit up and she forced him to look at the space where Molly’s chest gaped open, right next to his hea-

“It’s melted. Molly was a creature of frost and ice. The fire magic melted his heart. He could only hold out so long.” Tears streamed down her face. “ I’m sorry, Caleb. His Matron has taken him, now.”

Shuddering, Caleb shook his head in minute, abortive movements. He reached out a hand to the hollow chasm where Molly’s icy heart had melted but pulled it away as a sob escaped his trembling lips. Instead, he gently closed Molly’s eyelids, brushed the silken hair from his face, trailed a single fingertip over the feathered tattoo on his cheek.

“Cay-“ Nott started to say, but shut her mouth when he stiffened. He could hear the others shifting uneasily in place.

Caleb closed his eyes, breathing out shakily as he began to speak, the last dregs of desperate hope welling up within him. “Matron,” he whispered. “Moonweaver.  Whomever is listening. I beg you. Return him to life. Please. He did not- He did not deserve this. He died for me. I did not care for him the way I should have for much of the time we knew one another. But I…I will…take care of him. I will. I will care for him.  _ Please _ . I will-“ he voice strangled and cut out. It took a moment, but eventually, Caleb composed himself. “I will do whatever it takes. Whatever you need of me, please. Just, return him. Return him to me.”

In the echoing silence, Caleb heard Jester sniff.

“ _ Bitte _ . I beg of you. I beg of you, please bring him back. Please. He is…I am…” Gentle, Caleb clasped Molly’s hand between his, rubbing his thumbs against Molly’s rapidly cooling skin. “Mollymauk deserves to live. He saw so much good in the world, made me see it too, in his wonderment, and his joy and his strength of heart. In his kindness.” The words brought on a fresh bout of tears. “I did not mean for something so special to be taken from the world. Please, gods, please, bring him back. Bring him back to me. I-I love him.”

Caleb gasped, eyes flying open in shock at his own words, at the truth he heard there, the admission settling like a balm on his wounded heart. “I love him," he repeated in awe. "I love him,  _ bitte _ . I love him. I love him."

His eyes pressed shut and he rested his forehead on Molly’s stomach, softly crying as his plea went unanswered and all hope he had dissipated into nothingness. Maybe he, Caleb, was undeserving, but Molly…? Molly had only love in his heart, not bitterness, not cruelty or true coldness. Only love.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Not Yasha – it wasn’t large enough, nor Nott – too big. Not delicate like Jester or rough like Fjord. Slender…like Beau… Gone still since he felt the hand on his shoulder, Caleb finally noticed that the rise and fall of breathing wasn’t his own and looked up, fear and awe warring within him.

Slits of red watched him with aching tenderness, head raised weakly, shaking. And there, beneath his hand, Caleb felt a heartbeat.

“Mollymauk...” he breathed.

“C’leb…”

His breaths were still shaky, his colour still off, his wound not fully healed, but Mollymauk was real, and breathing, heart beating.

“ _ Molly.” _

Caleb surged forward, curling his hand under Molly’s head, clutching gently at his shoulder with the other as he pressed his forehead into Molly’s neck and sobbed in relief, whispering Molly’s name brokenly, over and over again. Molly, with trembling hands, embraced him back.

“Mollymauk," Caleb whispered in his ear. "I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Eyes shining with tears, heart full, Molly smiled.

Outside, beyond the shattered windows of the tower, the snow fell softly across the land, a gentle coverlet, pure and new.

 

I am filled time and again

with a heart-aching wonder

when I think

 

of the fire

and frost of memories

 

of the everlastingness

of love

 

the solace

of family

and the power

of prayer.

 

~Sanober Khan,  _ Turquoise Silence _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP! Even To The Wild Woods! 
> 
> Caleb Widogast is a young man attending college in Oldenburg, Germany. After an accident on a bicycle, he starts having dreams. Strange dreams. Dreams about...himself? Dreams he forgot he had before, long ago, as a child. Dreams of a man from another world, a man named Bren Aldric Ermendrud, a mage of mythic days who also had dreams, dreams of fire and dreams of a creature, a lavender hued humanoid, trapped within a willow, seeking freedom from magical confines.
> 
> To the chagrin of all around him, Caleb begins to suspect they might be memories of a past life. As he lives out in dreams what happened to Bren Aldric Ermendrud and the Nymph, a mystic named Mollymauk, he returns home to the Isle of Rügen to search for the place where the willow might be, crossing worlds, - in dreams and in life - in hopes of giving himself a happier ending than Bren Aldric Ermendrud ever got.


	13. BONUS: OST, Behind the Scenes and On Location Photography

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live in a very cold and snowy place, but setting the scene was important to me. I have included here photos that I took to put myself in the mood, music and a few behind the scenes looks at dnd related elements.

Bonus:

 

Behind the Scenes:

 

Originally, this story was to be entitled “The Cold Earth Slept Below” for the Shelley Poem given at the opening of chapter 11.

 

The story is named for the poem [ Tithonus ](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45389/tithonus) by  ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

 

Lucien is a Godling race from the Book of Beautiful Horrors:

 

 

The Ice Wraith that Caleb, Molly and Nott Fought, also from the Book of Beautiful Horrors:

 

 Official Pintrest Board from @supersonica: [https://www.pinterest.com.au/rexcorvus1/cold-are-all-thy-lights-steelneena-ao3/?sender=490048140611738114&invite_code=1aa2d731e8974410bb6c782b9bb4d512](https://www.pinterest.com.au/rexcorvus1/cold-are-all-thy-lights-steelneena-ao3/?sender=490048140611738114&invite_code=1aa2d731e8974410bb6c782b9bb4d512)

Songs for Cold Are All Thy Lights

 

Some were listened to more than others, all were a part of the process of creating the mood needed to set the scene needed to bring Cold Are All Thy Lights to life

 

[ The Frost Punk OST ](https://drive.google.com/open?id=1JcfGL79RG5WwWyerAY_q2fA7VCTGWBdz)by Piotr Musiał

 

Featured Songs:

 

A Song for Determination: Track 22, The Cold Still World

A Song for Caleb’s Memories: Track 7, Unnamed

A Song for the Final Battle: Track 10, The City Must Survive

A Song for the Release of Grief: Track 11, Unnamed

 

[ The Northerner Diaries ](https://jeremysoule.bandcamp.com/album/the-northerner-diaries-symphonic-sketches) by Jeremy Soule

 

Featured Songs:

 

A Song for Lucien, the Frost Sprite: Track 5, [ Lėikr ](https://jeremysoule.bandcamp.com/track/l-ikr)

A Song for Travelling under the Cold Winter Sun: Track 4, [ Jata ](https://jeremysoule.bandcamp.com/track/jata)

 

Other songs: 

A Song for Falling In Love: Winter in Melbourne by Tom Day

Version 1: [ Piano Cover ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBtzYRk2REc)

Version 2: [ Original ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8YvQbIa3CQ)

A Song for Inspiration Regarding Love: [Kiss From A Rose by Seal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkzXi4cmdJk)

A Song for the Prologue: [ Ashes of War, Immediate Music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63HfHOVld9Q)

A Song for the Space Between Realms:[ Hope of Aurora, Immediate Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pkGQh-tEuN0)

Songs for Yasha: [ Runjnuj ](https://dzivia.bandcamp.com/track/dzikaje-palava-nie-wild-hunt)by Dzivia

Songs for the Market and Inns

Lure: [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmExqfKa1Uc ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmExqfKa1Uc)

Tagelharpe: [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muRr8WqrU48 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muRr8WqrU48)

Market Place: [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19dx6AkC_GY ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=19dx6AkC_GY)

Bars and Inns: [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eim5-IlF48w ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eim5-IlF48w)

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaRNvJLKP1E&feature=youtu.be ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaRNvJLKP1E&feature=youtu.be)

More Songs for Travelling:

[ Skald by Wardruna ](https://wardruna.bandcamp.com/album/skald)

[ Run by SKALD ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66iyqTVYgUw&list=PLnVfLaSOZ6LNfblaNp2TfSI6GhECFUUjD&index=2)

Ambient Sounds:   
  
Deep Winter noises: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddo8Mz2ZtFo>

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8pDE7PDJHY ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8pDE7PDJHY)

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7BCa9Y8Of8 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7BCa9Y8Of8)

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2NpiHVGjs8 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2NpiHVGjs8)

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ddO3jPUFpg ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ddO3jPUFpg)

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNfyM1vk9YQ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNfyM1vk9YQ)

  


Photography (C) steelneena:   
  


 


End file.
